


Storm's End

by Minmei



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Drama, Gen, Minor Character Death, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:35:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7092424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minmei/pseuds/Minmei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sycamore begins to pick up the pieces of his life. Set after PL3, spoilers for PL 1 through 6, and PLvsAA. Warning: Headcanon running rampant! (Part 2 uploaded. Complete.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was supposed to be a new beginning, the start of a new life for a man plagued by tragedies. Having been to the brink and back, he acknowledged that the past was gone. His past--a life that had included two lost families, and an unyielding drive for revenge. As the reason for his continued existence started to wane, he had been given a lifeline, so to speak, by one of the people he had deceived, someone he had also come to care for.

He had stayed too long in the role, he knew. It was evident whenever one of his companions exhibited a need for assurance, and he was quick to offer kind words. Though he hadn't intended to become reacquainted with that lost part of himself, he could not deny the end result. The compassionate man named Desmond Sycamore had taken center stage. His alter ego, Jean Descole, had planned for it to last only until the aura stones were collected, and the Azran key assembled. But he could not deny a certain fondness he had developed for these people, or how he appreciated the reciprocated warmth.

By that point, however, it was too late to start working with his new companions openly and honestly. The deception had been terrible for them all, Descole included. And despite pangs of guilt, he pressed on with his original plans until an unexpected development caused him to ally once more with his nemesis and new friend, Professor Hershel Layton. Descole had once asked the question of the fates--why, of all people, was his younger brother at the center of every plot, and as an archaeological scholar, no less? Certainly 'Desmond Sycamore' had carried the full burden on his shoulders, as well as the need to take revenge against those responsible for ruining their family. Admittedly Layton's involvement hadn't come entirely as a shock--despite the time they'd spent apart, Sycamore had occasionally tracked the events of Layton's life, and was fully aware of the man's interest in archaeology as well as what had initially caused it.

Even with Sycamore's best efforts, Layton had not fully escaped a life of tragedy. After having lost his good friend to an Azran trap during an expedition, Layton also lost his fiancee to an explosion from a scientific experiment gone wrong, and then nearly lost his own life in pursuing the answer of why. Sycamore understood what his little brother had gone through, but by then, Sycamore, too, had lost the sanctuary he'd spent years building up. Consumed by grief at the deaths of his wife and child, he gave in to despair, which in turn, gave birth to the existence known as 'Jean Descole.' All that had been left in the ashes was the husk of a broken man...and his loyal companion. Raymond, a butler who had served the Sycamore family for years, now followed his master around the world, regardless of which face Desmond Sycamore wished to present. Raymond had been there to help pick up the pieces after Targent destroyed the Sycamore family, and he had assisted in multiple schemes and getaways for Descole. He continued to be there after Descole's plot concluded, and was at his master's side as they embarked on a new adventure.

But as with many good things in Descole's life, the adventure ended too soon. 

* * *

"Good night, Professor," the girl's voice softly projected into the hallway.

Hershel Layton stood at the door with a warm expression. "Good night, Flora." He slowly pulled the door shut and then turned, heading toward his study. In recent years, Layton's collections of books and artifacts had increased, as did the number of guests who frequented his flat; eventually he had made the decision to move into a three-bedroom house. It possessed just the right amount of space, allowing for both a master bedroom and personal study.

The professor's footsteps slowed as he neared his bedroom; though it was nighttime, he was neither in the mood to sleep nor read. He had been hit with so many changes in such a short period of time, that he had yet to process it all.

His life had been eventful from the start, a fact he'd been reluctant to embrace until his teenage years. A promise to a friend had fueled his drive to pursue a degree in archaeology, and later, an academic position. He would not stop studying and exploring...resulting in the occasional absence from a lecture, much to the disappointment of his students. He would gain an apprentice in Luke Triton and an assistant in Emmy Altava, reunite with several old friends (including one he had mistakenly feared dead) and confront the horrors buried in his past. Several times he would clash with a man almost as self-destructive as he was destructive, someone who unexpectedly turned out to be the elder brother who had once ensured Layton's protection. Then, after solving the Azran's greatest riddle, Layton and Luke would take in Flora Reinhold, an orphan living by herself in St. Mystere--a village populated by robots brought to life by a gifted man. After another adventure, Layton once again would come face-to-face with a tragedy from his past, reopening old wounds.

So much had happened in those three years. Now Luke was gone, having moved to a different country with his parents. Emmy, out of shame for her deception, had resigned as assistant. Layton's house served as a foster home for Flora, but in between university and studying, he did not always have the time to be the parental figure she needed. Layton deliberately scheduled his classes around Flora's own schooling as much as possible, but reluctantly acknowledged his limits. At times he considered seeking a mother for her, but with Claire's death still a fresh wound, he held off on it. Sometimes he felt guilty. Flora could be self-sufficient, but it was not surprising that she could get lonely. He often encouraged her to pursue her own interests...and hopefully, bond with those she met through those same interests.

With so much on the man's mind, there was no use going to bed now. A few minutes of fresh air grew tempting as he eyed the book on his nightstand. Though he didn't care to leave Flora alone at night, it had been so long since he'd had a moment to himself.

_A walk in the park_ , he thought to himself. _Just five minutes. It isn't that far away. I'll be back soon enough._

* * *

The streets were mostly empty during that time of night, with the occasional vehicle passing through. Layton remembered the many times he had walked by this area with Claire, or even with Luke and Emmy, just before they set off in pursuit of an Azran site.

The final trip into Azran territory had come a little over a year ago after Layton had received a request from a fellow archaeologist, someone who also happened to be an authority on the Azran. Desmond Sycamore, a well respected man in the field of archaeology, would bring Layton and his companions onto his airship, where he would take them to every corner of the world in search of the aura stones.

Layton didn't think much of it at the time, but there had been something strange about Sycamore. There was little information about him available, and he hardly divulged his past, though he'd once alluded to a dead wife and daughter. A slip of the tongue, but he had been guarded the rest of the time. He would keep his largest secrets only until it became absolutely necessary to spill them.

Layton often wondered what was going through the man's mind. What he truly thought of Layton, and had he felt the slightest bit of remorse over his deception and cold plots? He had been mild-mannered, compassionate and generous, only sometimes expressing irritation at a stranger's rudeness. He was the last man Layton would have ever suspected of secretly being Jean Descole...much less his elder brother. When _that_ particular tidbit was dropped--and by Descole, no less--Layton didn't know what to make of it, or even what to call the man, someone who had been brother, rival, and good friend all in one. He wasn't even sure which role had made the greatest impact on his life, though later on, he would decide that a brother's sacrifice had enabled him to live a normal life, far from the tragic history of the Bronev family.

_It was far more than what he had found for himself,_ he mused. _While I'd reaped the benefits of a blank slate, he had taken a dangerous risk in pursuing Targent...losing all that he held dear._

Layton sometimes wondered what might have been, had they not lost contact with one another. Would 'Desmond' have let Layton into his life, relied on his support? Could the deaths of Sycamore's wife and child have been prevented somehow? Would he have stayed his path without the appearance of 'Jean Descole'?

It was pointless to ponder now. The past was gone, as was the man who had ultimately given in to despair. Layton decided to move on with his life. In addition to Flora, more people had entered his life, including an American lawyer and his enthusiastic assistant, and many people living in a city that might have been taken from history's pages, had they not been revealed later to be part of a government experiment. Then, after saying goodbye to Luke and his parents, Clark and Brenda...

Layton was so caught up in his memories that he didn't realize just how far into the park he had walked. _It has definitely been more than just a few minutes._ As good as the night air felt, Layton felt guilty about enjoying it for so long. _I should get back. Flora may need me._

Something felt familiar as he drew nearer to a set of statues. _That's right. This is where Carmine Accidenti and Espella Cantabella were attacked, leading us into that unusual adventure._ The car, at least, had long been removed from the scene, and the statues replaced. Additional park benches had been added to the area, which often attracted people at any hour.

Even now, someone was sitting at one of the benches, partly in the shadow, thanks to an overhead tree branch. The person was wearing a hat and cloak, but not much else was recognizable...until something else caught Layton's eye. It was in the pair of shoes the stranger was wearing, a style associated with someone Layton knew not too long ago. _But that can't be. Did he...?_

_...Of course. That time, as we were all fleeing the Azran ruins...he pretended to perish along with the golems._

Layton had no idea if the man had seen him yet, but he knew he could not return home now. He slowly approached to confirm his suspicions, but stopped several feet in front of the bench. "You are the last person I expected to find here tonight...Descole."

The man looked up, offering a weak scoff, but otherwise made no move. "Well, well, Layton. I could say the same of you."

"My home is not far from here. It is not so strange I would come here to clear my head when necessary."

"Oh, don't be stupid. I'm not referring to that. It's late, and it's only logical to expect one to prepare for bed at this hour."

"Fair enough," Layton said. "Now I must ask...what are you doing here? The last time I saw you, you were taking your life...or, evidently, just pretending to do so."

"Well, one could say I did succeed. Or rather, I tried to put an end to the miserable existence known as 'Jean Descole' and start over. For once, I was traveling the world not as a man hellbent on revenge, but as an observer, a tourist, a simple traveler. I'd even befriended a few people on my own. The name I gave them...matters not. A tragic life story is of interest to no one, after all."

"I see. Then what brought you back here, of all places? And in that outfit, no less. You are aware that the police do not officially recognize Jean Descole's death, and are still seeking him?"

"I am aware, Layton." The more Descole spoke, the more weary he sounded. "This guise...it is a difficult habit to break, even after this past year. But enough about that. You wish to know what brought me here tonight? The truth is, there's nowhere else for me to go. Targent robbed me of my home years ago. Then, on the last trip I took with Raymond, my faithful butler...the Bostonius suffered engine failure and crashed onto a hill...in more than one piece. Raymond...most regrettably...did not make it."

Layton recalled the butler he had met on board the Bostonius as he, Emmy and Luke were on their way to meet Professor Sycamore. The man had been polite and hospitable, regardless of which master he was serving. "I...I am sorry to hear that. Raymond was a good man."

"Oh, how _wonderful_. The good professor's assessment is noted." When the sarcastic retort was met with a blank stare and uncomfortable pause, Descole backed off, but with a sneer. "My apologies. As you can see, this is another habit difficult to break. And...speaking of rudeness, enough about me. What are you doing here, and without your assistants?"

_He must be referring to Emmy and Luke._ "I haven't seen Emmy in months, though we maintain some contact. She resigned after that unfortunate incident, and entrusted her role to Luke. As for Luke, his family relocated overseas when Clark pursued a career opportunity."

Descole made an observant-sounding _hmm_ at the response.

"Is there something wrong with what I said, Descole?"

"No. Not at all. Actually, it's what you aren't saying." Before Layton could respond to that, Descole scoffed again. "Don't worry, Layton. I haven't kept up with your life since we parted ways, and I'm not terribly invested in any of your secrets."

"That's the difference between you and me," Layton told him. "While I've made a mistake or two in my youth, I don't keep secrets anymore."

"Oh, silly me, of course not. You were brought up to be better than that, weren't you?" There was an understandable bitterness in the man's tone, but it still made Layton uncomfortable. "Hershel Layton, the goody-two-shoes who never stepped out of line. Granted, there was that unfortunate accident where you caused your friend to be swallowed up by the Akbadain Ruins--albeit indirectly--but he turned up after eighteen years or so, yes? Meanwhile, you basked in the glow of two adoring parents who encouraged you to follow your newfound dream of becoming a professor of archaeology. You had all the support of all your friends and neighbors...with no reminder of your dark past to hold you back. Truly, I envy you." With a long sigh, he turned his head to the side. "How it must have been to have a fresh start, a blank slate, without a care in the world. I took on the burden of avenging our family, while you played the days away in Stansbury."

Layton couldn't help it; the words were stirring up something inside him. Was it anger? Was it empathy? Whatever it was made him draw closer to the man.

"As for me...I was not as fortunate. Certainly, the Sycamore family had been charitable enough to take me in, but even they could not subdue the need for revenge. Every day I lived it, that moment Targent broke into our home, and stole our parents away from us. I thought I could free myself from that, until I'd heard our mother died in the Nest. Even after I had gotten married and started my new life, I couldn't forget. Not even as I looked into the eyes of my daughter could my resolve be shaken. And look what it cost me--my family, my friendships...even my soul. After the final remnants of the Azran Sanctuary were destroyed, there was a moment I was convinced I had let go of everything and could start over...but even that...has failed me..." He shook his head. "After everything, I have nothing. No purpose, no career, no friends, no one--I couldn't escape this cursed last name after all--" Before he could finish, an open palm rapidly approached him, stopping only when it had found flesh. Descole grunted as he was slapped across the face, and he nearly fell over.

Layton brought his hand back, glaring. "Enough of that, now," he scolded. "Cursed, you say? Nonsense. While it's true you've been through more horrors than most see in a lifetime, at some point, Descole, you must stop feeling sorry for yourself and take responsibility for your own actions. You can either hold on to your bitterness every time there's a setback, or you can accept the past is gone and move on."

With the skin of his cheek stinging, Descole looked up at his younger brother. "And who are you to rebuke me...?" he snarled angrily, then lunged at the man. "...Layyytooonnn...!"

Layton dodged the pathetic hail of fists coming at him, stepping aside in reflex to each of Descole's wild movements. Again and again the masked man charged, though soon each motion became slower than the last. Finally, Descole stumbled and lost his balance, dropping onto the grass in a heap. He was clearly winded. Layton wasn't certain if he felt pity or sympathy at that moment. "Descole..."

"No, _don't_ \--" Descole said the words in between sharp breaths. "Don't...say anything. It's over. It's all over. As I said, every attempt to start over in life has failed. Even 'Descole,' the manifestation of my despair, looked back once or twice. I couldn't leave behind Sycamore...not completely. So I brought him back...all for the sake of using you. But...I stayed too long in the role."

"What do you mean?"

"Desmond Sycamore...grew fond of all his companions during that time. It was just an act. At least, it was supposed to be...but I..." He let out a groan of pain and collapsed.

An alarmed Layton rushed to his side. "Descole! Are you all right?" Kneeling down, he moved the unconscious man over on his back. In the harsh light of the park lamp, Layton noticed a few scratches and soot on the skin of Descole's face. One scratch retreated into his boa, which was just as filthy. Even the cloak was torn and singed on one side, and sprayed with dirt. _He spoke of the accident with the Bostonius...but he failed to mention how long ago it was. Though he was well enough to get here, he must still be hurt...and exhausted. I shall bring him back to my house._ Layton slowly picked Descole up off of the ground, slinging one of the man's arms over his shoulder.

The trip home was much longer, but with Layton dragging the extra weight, this was no surprise. As he made his way through the hall, he tried to minimize the noise he was making to no avail. Entering the room once reserved for Luke, he brought his new houseguest over to the bed and carefully set him down. On closer inspection, Descole looked rather ridiculous in the outfit he often wore--even more so after his ordeal--and it probably did nothing for his rest and recovery. One by one, Layton removed the external pieces of the man's outfit, setting them on a chair beside the bed. Once he had loosened the cloak, he could see Descole's suit had not escaped the damage, with patches of soot staining the lapels and tie. The accident also had left a tear in the fabric of both the pant leg and jacket sleeve. Layton removed Descole's jacket with great care so as not to aggravate any possible injuries. After slinging the item across the back of the chair, he gently loosened the tie and belt, adding them to the pile. He finished by slipping off the man's shoes and putting them under the chair.

As Layton pulled back the bed sheets for his sudden houseguest, he couldn't help but observe the change in the last few moments. The last time he had seen Descole without his disguise had been at least half a year ago, when he had joined the man on a quest to uncover the Azran secrets. Even now, Layton was having a difficult time associating one face with the other. The only time Professor Desmond Sycamore had ever truly lost his temper was in the presence of Targent. Layton had never questioned this, though with Targent's reputation, there had been no need. Aside from that, Sycamore had radiated all things good and gentle. Jean Descole, on the other hand, had been bitterly angry, destructive, and cunning. Both men had been brilliant in their work. The face that appeared to Layton now was Sycamore's in every way, but he could only wonder which man would greet him upon his return to the conscious world... 

* * *

Explosions rocked the entire neighborhood, accompanied by a roar louder than anything else he had heard in his life. The frightening sounds and violent events haunted him countless times since then, tearing him away from what might have been a peaceful sleep. Once again, Desmond Sycamore stood before his home, a normally welcoming structure now in flames, while muffled screams rang above him. Sycamore tried desperately to get into the building, pounding at the front door--locked, of course--and then tossing a heavy lawn chair into a window. He was finally able to climb in, but was soon overwhelmed by the smoke. As the screams faded, he caught a glimpse of Raymond lying on the floor, knocked out by a ceiling beam.

He never found his wife or daughter.

The traumatic memory invaded his dreams again and again. He couldn't decide which was worse, reliving the helplessness he felt as his loved ones died around him, or finding a happier ending...only to wake up to the coldness of reality. He wasn't sure when he stopped mourning them, or if he had stopped at all. With his second chance at a loving family ripped away, it wasn't long before despair consumed him, perhaps the only thing to drive him closer to Targent and the Azran. It was a darker and much lonelier path than he had originally intended, and every day, he justified this journey with the need for retaliation. After all, _of course_ an organization as evil as Targent deserved to be brought down.

Looking back now, he wondered if there had been a more constructive way of doing so.

The fire never stopped flickering, but was now reduced to the size of a single, tiny flame. The angry hum and the screams all but faded, and Sycamore realized he was lying down somewhere. He couldn't make out the location--everything was foggy--but he could only guess it was nighttime.

Something warm was touching his flesh; Sycamore looked over blurrily to see a small pair of hands surrounding his forearm. Occasionally, there would be a flash of red and white, and then a soothing sensation. Sycamore felt the person wrapping something around the area, perhaps some gauze. When the task was done, something briefly blocked his vision, and then, settled against his forehead, cool and damp. He uttered a soft moan of appreciation, apparently startling the person.

Sycamore's eyes fluttered weakly, and for a moment he found himself viewing the face of a young girl. Her countenance was quite expressive, despite his current visual handicap. Something about her reminded him of the past.

_But it couldn't be. I always imagined heaven as a vast paradise...but heaven would not have a place for someone like me. My soul is so burdened with sins, I couldn't possibly have followed her there. Her sweet soul, her sweet smile...almost an angel herself. She would have been about this girl's age now._

"Millie," he murmured, and then gave into the darkness once more. 

* * *

"He was looking at me like he knew me," an agitated Flora Reinhold explained to Hershel Layton. "I almost panicked when he spoke. I mean, I don't think he was going to harm me, but...Professor, how long do I have to keep going in there and changing his bandages?"

"Just a little while longer," Layton assured her. "I'm deeply sorry for imposing on you, but I can't be here all day. The housekeeper will be here tomorrow so that you're not alone in here with him, but as you said, I don't believe he'll be any trouble. He's far too weak right now, and will be quite disoriented when he finally wakes."

"Just who is he anyway?"

"He's..." Layton bowed his head for a moment. "It's complicated. You might say he's an old friend who...went down a dark path until...certain events forced a change. He's come around and has been helpful to me since then, but right now, he has no one and I fear that much could send him into a relapse...or just a deep depression."

"Oh. Well...I hope he gets better. No one...should be forced to be alone."

_She must be recalling the long days after her father died_ , thought Layton, with a pang of guilt. _And though I swore to look after Augustus' daughter, in some ways, I have failed to uphold my promise._ "...You're absolutely right, Flora. Don't concern yourself with this anymore, actually. It's my responsibility and I should not burden you with it. It's just that I wish to be there for him, as he was there for me."

"I know you will be, Professor...and..." A sad smile formed on Flora's face. "...I'm sorry for sounding selfish earlier. If you're friends with him, then I bet he's a real gentleman too."

_Desmond Sycamore is, without a doubt. The trouble is, I don't know how long he'll keep the mask off._ "There is no need to apologize, Flora. Now, run along and finish your homework. I'll take over from here."

When she was gone, Layton entered the guestroom, looking upon his brother's sleeping form. _Desmond...I've kept your secret for this long. I wonder...will I change my mind the next time we speak?_

* * *

The woman he loved was just out of reach, once again. The tears stung his eyes as he listened to her pleading somewhere nearby, nowhere in his sights. A young child's voice had once screamed alongside hers, but was now silenced. Helplessly, Desmond Sycamore lay trapped on the floor of his own house, his strength spent in just trying to reach Raymond, who was now dead. Soon the darkness surrounded him, crushing him beneath several tons of weight. He gave in, knowing he would not win this time.

After some time, the darkness dissipated and he was floating on air, in a place where no horrors threatened to drag him down. He slowly descended upon the softest bed of grass he had ever touched, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. The birds were singing a song, almost just for him. They chattered away and played, and he wondered once if they had a secret of their own.

Sycamore opened his eyes as the song continued, but it was not a field of grass in which he found himself. His body ached still, but he managed to move himself up to a sitting position. _Where am I?_ Sunlight peeked through a window bordered by open curtains, prompting him to scan his surroundings. The bedroom contained basic decor, but the furniture was of fine quality. The bookshelf, desk, chair, nightstand, and headboard were made of solid wood with a dark polish. Finally, he took a closer look at what was on the wall--framed photographs of ancient ruins, and--

His heart jumped at two of the pictures--though slightly blurry to him, he could see that one showed a man, a woman, and a young boy related to the two, and the other, a less formal shot of a man in a top hat posing with that same boy and a young woman dressed in yellow. He knew these people, for he had met them all at one point...even inflicting harm upon them in some form.

The memories rushed back to him. _Layton must have brought me here_. _I tried to attack him, and he repays me by inviting me into his own home. Is this fate, laughing at me once more?_

He turned his face in shame for a moment, noticing the objects on the nightstand next to him. First, a thin white candle, recently burned, and just behind it, another framed picture. The eyes grabbed his attention immediately. _It's the girl I saw not too long ago._ Though he had never formally met her, he was still inexplicably drawn to her. He then shook his head at that. _No, you fool. Your daughter was lost years ago. This girl...shares nothing with her...no more than the Azran girl...or the other children we met on that adventure._

Still scolding himself, he threw the bed sheets off of his legs. He realized then that he was no longer wearing his disguise--he found it in pieces to his other side, set on a second chair. _I don't look much like Descole now_ , he surmised. _I look more like that man once filled with hope, a man who knew how to love and was blessed with a family despite his broken past._ He wasn't certain which man he felt like...or even wanted to be.

Getting up from the bed proved nearly as difficult as just sitting up. When Sycamore was fully on his feet, he moved toward the nearest door, grateful to find what was on the other side. 

* * *

Hershel Layton headed toward the guestroom, carrying a small paper bag and white plastic box marked with a red cross. He entered, only to be stunned by the scene before him. "What on earth...?"

The bed was empty, covers thrown back. There was not a sign of his houseguest, though Jean Descole's outfit was still hanging on the chair by the bed.

"Now where could he have gone...?" That's when he heard it, the muffled sound of a strong, steady stream hitting a large bowl of water. After a lengthy moment, it was followed by a flushing noise, and then more falling water. There was a pause before the door opened, and Desmond Sycamore appeared.

It hadn't been Layton's intention to do so, but he suddenly shouted, "Desmond!"

Clearly startled by the exclamation, Sycamore brought his hand to his chest, finally noticing his visitor. "What--" Out of reflex, or an old bad habit, he glared back, gritting his teeth. "Layton! Have you been there all this time _listening_?! You--" He caught himself, somehow more shocked by his own outburst. His facial features softened, and he covered his mouth with his other hand. He broke eye contact, politely clearing his throat. "...uh...that is...forgive me. I...you gave me...quite a fright."

Perhaps it was Layton's imagination, but the man seemed to be blushing as well. "N-no...the fault is mine. I was not expecting you to be up and about already. You were unconscious for a little over two days, not to mention feverish for a time."

"Oh...I see." An awkward silence ensued as both men stood where they were. "W-well...what is that you have there?"

"This? I came to change your bandages, so..."

"My bandages...?" Sycamore looked down at his sleeve, which had been rolled back to the elbow. Surrounding part of the exposed skin was a long strip of gauze. "Oh...I suppose...I should let you do that." He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, while Layton followed, dragging the free chair over.

Layton then took a seat, set both items on the bed and opened the box. As he was unwrapping the old bandaging, he heard a soft "why?" Confused, Layton looked up at the man. "I beg your pardon?"

"Why did you call me 'Desmond'?"

"That is your name, is it not?" Layton asked, examining the wound. "It looks as though it's stopped bleeding." He deposited the waste in the paper bag before moving to his next task.

"I have gone by many names," Sycamore said quietly. "It doesn't mean any of them belong to me."

"'Desmond Sycamore' does not belong to you?"

"I..." The man lowered his head with a defeated look. "I am not worthy of being its owner."

Layton tore open a small plastic pack, removing the antiseptic wipe. "Then what name would you prefer?"

Sycamore paused, then let out a sigh. "It...doesn't matter at this point. Any name will do."

"Then I shall continue to call you 'Desmond,'" Layton said as he gently dabbed around the wound. When he was done, he applied fresh ointment to one side of a square cotton pad, then set the item on the skin of Sycamore's arm. He had gotten halfway through wrapping the gauze when he added, "For the record, I believe you _are_ worthy of that name."

"Layton..."

"There is much we have to talk about," Layton told him, but backtracked. "Forgive me, that is not how I meant it. Truthfully, there is much I would like to discuss with you. I will not force you, of course, but I will say this. You are welcome to stay here for as long as you need...if you are interested. At some point, I would expect for you to find employment..." He smiled meekly as he finished the task of wrapping the bandage. "But as long as you stay out of trouble, I don't mind having you here."

Confusion covered the other man's face. "But...why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Layton, after everything I've done...after all the deception and lies...putting your life in danger...why would you help a scoundrel such as myself?"

Hershel Layton shook his head. "Because...Desmond...you weren't--and aren't--always like that." He paused a moment to reminisce. "Many years ago, there was a young lad, not much older than I was, whose capacity for charity surpassed even that of some adults. This remarkable boy could have taken the opportunity presented to him and gone on to live with the Laytons. Instead, he allowed me to find happiness in his place. He should never have had to make that sacrifice, as he was still so young himself. But because of that, I've had an incredible, fulfilling life, and I owe much to him. And while it is true he eventually found a dark road...even in that darkness, he found the strength to help me. Even if ultimately, his goal was to have his revenge against the Azran, he kept me from being drawn into corruption as our father was."

A despondent look covered Sycamore's face. "I...may have simply lost control of my inhibitions in the moment. After all, that man is responsible for the deaths of his daughter-in-law and granddaughter...even if it wasn't fully intentional."

"If you don't mind me asking," Layton started, disposing of the other waste, "what exactly happened back then? What did...Leon do? And how on earth did your family get caught up in his horrible scheme?"

"Well...the truth is...I was their target. It was about ten years ago, and they were actively seeking recruits. My wife and daughter had nothing to do with Targent's wrath, but would be victims of it regardless. It's true that they will resort to sordid methods, such as when they threatened the well-being of your adoptive parents to manipulate you...but in this case, they were only interested in me. They had been tracking my progress and had seen my potential for their side. I'd refused...and...deciding this was not to their satisfaction, they planted explosive devices inside of my house, set to trigger at their command. The message was clear: reject us, and you will lose something precious. I was...occupied late that night, but my wife, daughter, and butler went about their routines. And then..." His face contorted, and he turned away.

A sympathetic Layton put his hand on the man's shoulder. "It's all right. I apologize for making you relive this tragedy."

"I relive it all the time, Layton, with or without your doing. Many nights, it haunts me in my dreams. I'm always too late to save them. Except when I'm not, only to find out our reunion was nothing more than a dream. I am not certain which of the two is worse. As for what happened, the house burst into flames just as everyone prepared for bed. They...were trapped. Shortly after the incident, Raymond told me that all of the windows had been sealed shut somehow. Targent's doing, I assume. Neither my wife nor my daughter were able to leave their bedrooms due to the fire in the hall. Raymond tried to get to them, but a beam struck him on the head. When I finally returned home, it was too late. I managed to break down the door. Sometimes it's a window in my dreams. The result is the same. I enter the house, and the air is thick with smoke...and...the lives of the ones I hold dear...extinguished. Pitiful man that I was, I could manage only a few steps before the smoke overwhelmed me. When I awoke, I was in a hospital bed wearing an oxygen mask."

Layton moved his hand back, clearly affected by the story. "Oh...Desmond...that's..."

Sycamore shook his head. "Don't. It is not your burden to bear, Layton. I made the choice to be careless, to underestimate the ruthlessness of Targent, to leave my wife and child vulnerable to their cruelty."

"You could not have predicted what was going to happen."

"Perhaps, but it doesn't change things. The moment I realized I was being monitored, I should have moved everyone to a safer location. My wife and daughter might be alive today."

"It's a possibility, but you said it yourself, Targent is ruthless. Who can say to what lengths they would have gone? I don't mean to imply your family doomed either way. I just hate to see you be so hard on yourself over something beyond your control. How could you have known that Targent would break into your home? It...must have been horrible, for all of you."

Sycamore's features remained tense. "I...barely had the strength to stand through the funerals, but Raymond...he insisted on being there by my side, cast and crutches and all."

Layton closed the first aid kit. "Listen, I meant it when I said Raymond was a good man. When we traveled together, I could see the magnitude of his devotion, and I'm glad you were not truly alone for all those years."

"Nngh..." Sycamore broke eye contact again. "I know...Layton. I understood your intent. I just wasn't ready to deal with the outpouring of sympathy. It's been a while...since anyone said the words 'I'm sorry' to me. Not that I've done much lately to deserve the phrase, nor have I used it in quite some time, myself. I'm...certain I have a lot of apologizing to do...to you, to your friends...to the citizens of Misthallery and Monte d'Or...and of course, everyone I tricked into attending Whistler's opera. And then...there's the matter of the police..."

"Desmond..."

"It's all right. As Jean Descole, I have much to answer for. Kidnapping, blackmail, multiple acts of destruction...the list goes on. Please...don't look at me like that, Layton. I don't need your pity."

"I don't pity you, but I do wish to be there for support."

"But...you've already done so much. I could ask no more of you."

"You went above and beyond for me when we were children. I only ask that you allow me to return the favor. Even while we were apart, you were looking out for me. Now it's my turn to do the same for you."

Sycamore gave a wordless expression of appreciation. "I imagine they'll be thrilled to see me in Scotland Yard...and disappointed once they realize the connection between Descole and me."

Layton nodded. "There will be much to sort out," he said. "However, I don't believe the situation is as dire as it seems."

"How can you say that? Have you already forgotten what I've done, Layton? I kidnapped your friends and impersonated them. I hired henchmen, built destructive devices, and even dirtied the hands of your friend, Randall Ascot. I tried to destroy you and those you care for..."

"...and you failed, several times." There was an odd sort of smile on the face of the man in the top hat, impish even. "With all due respect, Desmond, when it comes being a villain, your skills are...shall we say...somewhat lacking."

"What? What do you mean?"

Layton looked upon the stunned expression of his elder brother. "You tried too hard to throw it all away--everything you had, everything you were, and still are. Perhaps Descole is a part of you, but you yourself are not Descole. Otherwise, why hide within the shadows in order to carry out your schemes? Why don a mask to get your revenge on Targent? Do you honestly believe that man is your true self? Even from behind the mask, you could not bring yourself to take a life, could you?"

"...It didn't stop me from trying," said Sycamore.

"And yet, you went out of your way to preserve so many. I don't condone your trickery or destructive ways, but I can't deny the positive outcomes of your plotting. How many years did Henry Ledore and countless others spend searching for Randall Ascot, only for you to waltz into Monte d'Or with the man? And what about the Azran sanctuary, where you helped us prevent the golems from unleashing destruction upon the world? Or just before that, when you risked your life to save Luke from a trap in the ruins, and nearly died in the process?"

"Ngh...no, that's not..." A flustered Sycamore shook his head. "Look, Layton, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but...you are giving me far too much credit. I'm just a bitter, hateful man who wanted to destroy Targent and what was left of the Azran, and didn't care who was caught up in the storm. Please. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Layton nodded. "Fair enough. Forgive me for prying into your psyche, and pushing my own interpretation. You say I give you too much credit, but I think you don't give yourself enough. I will drop the subject, however."

"Thank you."

_"Professor...?"_

Both men turned in the direction of the female voice, which came faintly from the hall. A moment later, Flora Reinhold appeared in the doorway, wearing a short-sleeved blouse with a tie, a mid-length pleated dark skirt with matching knee socks, and strapped dress shoes. "Oh..." she said, clearly surprised by Sycamore's status. "I thought I heard voices in here."

"Good morning, Flora," Layton greeted her. "Are you headed off to school now?"

"In a minute."

"All right. Oh, Flora--" Layton then gestured to Sycamore. "--before you go, I would like to formally introduce you to Desmond Sycamore, a man who is an expert in the field of archaeology, and has even made a few magazine covers. He and I traveled the world together while researching the Azran civilization."

Flora was hesitant, but stepped into the room. "It's...nice to meet you. So...does that mean you're a professor of archaeology too?"

"Uh..." Sycamore seemed to be caught off guard as well. "I suppose you could say that. The professor...and your friend Luke...and a few others, assisted me in solving the Azran's greatest puzzle. Since then I have taken a much needed break. But enough about that. Miss Flora, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. And thank you for looking after me these last couple of days."

She blushed a little, but seemed genuinely pleased by the expression of gratitude. "Y...you're welcome, Professor Sycamore!" she said, beaming. "Um, I'd better run along or I'll be late."

"Be safe, Flora," Layton called out. "And have a wonderful day."

"How strange," Sycamore remarked as the girl left. "You speak of me as though we're old friends, when we both know how the mission at Targent's headquarters turned out."

"Well, in a way, we are old friends. In spite of what ultimately happened, I did feel a connection with you as we traveled around in the Bostonius. And I know both Emmy and Luke felt the same."

"Mmm." Sycamore's features tensed up for a moment, as though the memory pained him. It seemed he had something to say but refrained from doing so.

Layton started to respond himself, but remembered the man's earlier request to avoid certain past subjects. "Well, I should take my leave as well. I have a lecture at ten o'clock, and I'll need to organize my notes. Luke used to help with that, but with him gone..."

"You're completely hopeless?"

"Ha ha. I can't argue with that." Layton gathered up the items he had brought in. "Anyway, there won't be anyone coming by today, so feel free to use the place as you wish. If you must leave, there's a key in the drawer of the stand by the front door. Just be sure to return it. I'll be back before dinner."

"Honestly, Layton, there aren't many people I expect to be visiting today, nor do I feel I'm in any condition to be walking around. But the thought is appreciated."

"Well then, please rest up until you've regained your strength. Is there anything you need, in the meantime?"

"Uh...perhaps some medicine?"

"Yes, of course. How bad is the pain?"

"I was thrown against the dash just before the Bostonius crashed. I didn't realize the damage until after I had buried Raymond, and I could barely move without half my body in excruciating pain." Sycamore reached down, untucking his dress shirt and the undershirt beneath it, and lifted it up one side. "Well, I suppose the color has improved some, but I could use something to take the edge off."

"My word." Shocked, Layton observed the large purple blemish covering that half of the man's stomach. "Forgive me, Desmond. I hadn't realized it was that bad. I'll call the doctor right away."

"I'm fine, Layton," Sycamore insisted, adjusting his clothing. "At least, I don't think anything is broken."

"At least allow someone to come look at you here."

Again, the look on Sycamore's face indicated he had a particular response to fire back, but instead, he nodded. "If it will put you at ease." 

* * *

The doctor had arrived after Layton's departure, and after confirming that Sycamore was not a ticking time bomb, went on his way. Sycamore returned to his room, but it wasn't long before he found himself wandering about the house. In his mind was a raging tempest, full of questions and confusion. Thrust into this new setting when he had not yet fully processed the loss of Raymond, coming face to face with a man he had deceived and only earning his generosity. Sycamore could not decide whether to indulge in Layton's kindness, or to throw it back in his face with some profanity-laden rant about how the "punishment" did not fit the crime.

_Why?_ Sycamore wondered. _Why do you care so much, Layton? Who I was as a child...has no bearing on all the terrible things I did in adulthood. There's no reason to treat me as though some part of that person still exists within me. I am nothing more than a criminal, no better than Targent and their vile plots._

_If Anna and Millie were here...surely they'd be disgusted to see what I've become. The people I'd used and hurt...all for the sake of revenge._

It had been a long time since Sycamore felt so uncertain and insecure. Yet the reason Layton's acts of kindness made him uncomfortable had nothing to do with any suspicions Sycamore had about the man's intentions. Rather, he could not fathom at the moment why anyone would reward a person's misdeeds in such a manner.

_To him, I should be nothing more than scum. Something to be scraped off the bottom of one's shoe, rubbish to be tossed aside and forgotten._ His stomach was twisting in knots as he tried to see it from his younger brother's point of view. _I don't understand it. You owe me nothing, Layton. Nothing at all. Anything I would have done as a child would have been voided by everything I did as Descole. I don't understand. I don't understand..._

Had it been for the sake of family? Sycamore couldn't wrap his head around the notion. After all, family hadn't meant much to Leon Bronev when his wife Rachel died, after which he stopped his resistance to Targent's evil, opting instead to move through the ranks so that he could head the corrupt organization. It was nothing to Leon to harass his own biological son, and later, to show no remorse for the deaths of his daughter-in-law and granddaughter. No reminder of 'family' stopped Leon from attempting to blackmail his other son by threatening the safety of the kindly couple who had chosen to bring up the lad.

_Leon certainly isn't in the picture now._ He wasn't sure what had become of the man, as 'Jean Descole' had run off before the end. But the lack of mention by Layton seemed to indicate the two were no longer in each other's lives. _If that's true, does that mean he was unwilling to accept our father back into his life?_

_...and if that's the case...why would he allow me to be here, now?_

He was so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed the front door opening and shutting. Even as a female's cheery voice rang through the air, it did not register that he was no longer alone until the young girl had entered the room.

"Professor-- _oh._ " Flora stopped dead in her tracks as she spotted Sycamore, who was sitting slumped on the antique sofa in the reception room. "I-I'm sorry. I though the professor was home already. I mean, the other professor. He promised he would be back before dinnertime."

Sycamore was surprised, himself. "Oh...well, he should be home shortly, Miss Flora." Sensing the girl's unease, he smiled warmly at her. "Worry not. Professor Layton is a man of his word. If you require use of this room, I shall return to my own."

"Er..." Redness spread across the girl's face. "No, it's...it's not that. Um...I'm sorry if I'm being rude. Could I offer you some tea?" 

* * *

Some time later, Flora returned from the kitchen with a sterling silver tray, a steaming teapot, three teacups and their matching saucers, small ceramic containers of sugar and milk, and several spoons. Sycamore once had tried to help but the girl refused, insisting she was happy to do the job. However, at his insistence, she did stop short of pouring his tea for him.

While the man was up, Flora took one of the velvet-cushioned chairs on the other side of the table. "The professor won't ever let me do the cooking," she was saying as she stirred her cup, "but he doesn't mind it when I make tea."

"A gentleman must have his tea." Sycamore, who had returned to the sofa, took a sip before setting his cup on the saucer.

"Oh, I know that. It just bothers me that he would rather hire a cook instead of letting me make dinner."

Sycamore chuckled a bit at that. "That sounds...bothersome. And expensive." _Though perhaps Layton has a good reason for doing so..._

"Yeah. He says it's because I should focus on my homework instead of worrying about what to cook, but I don't believe that at all."

"Well...perhaps one day, you could finish your homework early, and ask to observe the cook, or even assist? Certainly there is no harm in learning a new recipe or technique."

"Exactly! Now you're talking." Flora put down her spoon, quietly sipping her tea. After a moment of silence, she lowered the cup, gazing at Sycamore with a pensive look. "Um..."

"Yes?"

"Well...it's probably none of my business, but...who's Millie?"

Sycamore's eyes widened in surprise. Had she been listening in on his conversations with Layton? But that was impossible...Sycamore hadn't divulged the names of his wife and daughter. "Uh...why...why do you ask? And how do you know that name?"

"You told me. I mean, when I was changing your bandages, you looked at me and called me 'Millie.'"

"Oh." Sycamore lowered his head, unprepared for the conversation. "That is...before I was exploring ruins with the professor, I had a wife and child. Millie...or rather, Mildred...was the name of my daughter. But...about ten years ago, I lost them both to a horrible...accident."

Flora's mouth fell open. "No...! I'm so sorry to hear that."

"It's all right. Thank you. But...while I was lying in that bed, I was dreaming of them. I drifted in and out of consciousness, and saw you while you were tending to me. You are about the age my daughter would have been, and I was delirious, so...that is likely the reason I called out the name. If...if I offended you in any way, I apologize."

"No...it's okay. I was confused at first, but now it all makes sense. So...that's probably the reason..."

"I beg your pardon?"

"When I first walked in here, you looked so sad. The professor said you've been through a lot of things but didn't really say what. But now..."

Sycamore's face was turning warm. "M-Miss Flora...it's thoughtful of you to show such concern. Uh...I don't know what to say, to be honest. You're very considerate, and Layton is lucky to have you around."

Flora seemed a bit embarrassed, but beamed at bit at the compliment. "Oh, th-thank you for saying so! I just want to be helpful. Sometimes the professor gets so busy he forgets to say 'thank you.'"

"Hahaha. Yes, I can imagine that happening with him. But please don't take it as a slight. I believe he truly appreciates your efforts, but he just may not know how to express himself at the moment."

"No, I really think it slips his mind."

"You may be right there," Sycamore started to say, when the sound of a door shutting was heard.

"Oh, Professor!" Flora called out. "We're in here!"

Layton appeared a moment later, briefcase in hand. "Good afternoon," he greeted them. "What have you two been up to?"

"Just a bit of tea and conversation," Sycamore replied.

"Wonderful." Layton set the briefcase down beside the couch. "Would you mind if I joined you?"

"Not at all, Professor," Flora told him. "We're just...talking about whatever."

Sycamore watched Layton's expression slightly change as he fixed his cup. _He's wondering what I could possibly have to discuss with Flora. If he finds this strange or suspicious...I can hardly blame him._ Sycamore briefly considered tossing some current events topic out there...but with his recent disconnection with the world and, as a result, limited knowledge of current events, went with a cheap quip instead. "Don't worry, Layton. I didn't go into great detail about our adventures, or the mess you made on board the Bostonius many a day."

"Hahaha. I probably did leave many things out of place while doing research, come to think of it." Layton took the chair next to Flora. "Fortunately, Luke and Emmy were there to ensure things didn't get out of hand." He took his first sip of tea, savoring the taste. "I often forget just how much they did when they were here. Honestly, with them gone, I become wracked with guilt whenever I think of how much I put Flora through."

"Oh, I don't mind it, Professor," the girl insisted. "I'm just happy to be doing something."

"Yes, well..." Layton started to finish the thought, but diverted. "I appreciate what you do, Flora. And thank you for the tea."

"Y-you're welcome!"

"Well, well," Sycamore said with a chuckle. "Looks as though he didn't forget after all. Isn't that right, Flora?"

Flora giggled at that, and then stood up. "Well, I'd better get started on my homework. I'll be back for the dishes."

"You two seem to be getting along," Layton said after she left.

"She's a fine young lady," Sycamore replied. "Well-mannered and thoughtful."

"Yes, she is. Most days...I fear I may be wasting her potential."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't...well, perhaps that conversation is meant for another time."

_I sense he wants to have this conversation now...but is holding off for my sake._ Desmond took another sip of tea. "...Perhaps."

"Incidentally--" Layton started, "--well, this may also be a conversation meant for another time, but you mentioned something earlier. I don't mean to pry, but...you said you had buried Raymond after the crash?"

Sycamore was taken aback. “Oh...well...y-yes...”

"I thought it curious, how the Bostonius crashed with no news of the incident anywhere. There was also no mention of Raymond in the obituary section of the paper. So, I must ask...where exactly did this crash occur?"

"It was...on a remote hill, about an hour's drive from here. Maybe two. There were no businesses or homes, except for farmland down the road. It...happened at night, and a storm was coming in, so I suspect a loud, thunderous noise seemed nothing out of the ordinary. In between the flashes of lightning, I did manage to find some tools in the wreckage, some in tact. I couldn't think of anything to do except to dig a proper grave for the man who had dedicated his life to serving me."

"So you buried Raymond by the crash site?"

Sycamore nodded. "I'm surprised I had it in me, considering my own injuries. When I was done, I placed a marker into the mound. That's when the rain started to pour, so I sought shelter in one of the bigger pieces of the Bostonius. I suppose that was...a day before you found me in the park."

"Then...how did you end up here?"

"I walked. At least until I found a town with bus services to London. I waited until it was late at night, of course. In that state, I would have invited far too many questions, and I'd lost my other disguises. When I reached London, I wandered around for a while. Not in the open, no. There was too much on my mind, so I eventually found myself at a place where I could clear it."

"I see." Layton set his cup down on the table, saucer and all. "It just...seems a shame to just leave everything there. Are you sure there isn't anything else you could have taken with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Something of value to you. Something to remind you of Raymond...or...would that be painful for you right now?"

Sycamore broke his gaze, looking downward with a sad expression. "Oh, I...I don't know, Layton. I didn't even think about that at all. Once the Bostonius went down and Raymond was killed, I just considered that chapter of my life over. I don't keep mementos of my past. Truthfully, I've never had that luxury."

"But if you had the chance..."

"...I don't know," Sycamore repeated in a whisper. "I think...that just having something he owned would just be a reminder that he was gone forever. I'm not suggesting it's foolish to have a reminder of the past, of course, but I cannot see how it would benefit me in this time."

"It would be painful to look upon now, but later, you might appreciate having something around." Layton took a moment to touch the rim of his top hat before transferring it from his head onto his lap. "Do you know why I wear this top hat, Desmond? It's a memento of the woman I loved...and lost. She gave it to me to congratulate me on my new career as professor. Now, one might say that it's more painful to keep it around, but the more I wore it, the more determined I became...not just to uncover the mystery behind her death, but to become a true gentleman."

"Yes," Sycamore said. "I sometimes forget that you, too, know the pain of losing loved ones."

Layton returned the hat to his crown. "You aren't the only one who forgets things. Speaking of which...I never thanked you for looking after me."

"What are you talking about? Didn't you make that speech this morning?"

"I don't mean when we were children..." Layton started to break eye contact. "When I...as I was pursuing answers to Claire's death, I was set upon by henchmen hired by Bill Hawks. I could have died right there in that alley...but by some miracle, I ended up at the hospital, albeit with several weeks of recovery before me. They say I had lost consciousness for much of that time, but early on, I had a dream...or what I had thought was a dream. In it, the doctor had entered my room...but his coat was too short and dark, his hair a little too curly, and for a man with perfect eyesight, he was wearing glasses..." Now it was Layton who appeared grief-stricken. "That was ten years ago. That very same year. I was the reason you were there, visiting. That's what you were doing the night that Targent killed your...your..." He could only choke on the word. "Desmond, I...I'm so sorry. If you hadn't taken me to the hospital and watched over me, your wife and daughter, they would still be..."

Sycamore was stunned by both the apology, as well as Layton's ability to unravel a mystery. "I...suppose I shouldn't be surprised you figured it out. But...Layton...please, don't think that for a moment. What happened with my wife and daughter was not your fault. Believe me, you weren't the only one with questions as to why there hadn't been any follow-up coverage to the explosion at the Polydimensional Research Institute. When I first read the name of the deceased, I knew I had to reach out to you. It was by sheer luck that I found you in that alley, especially in that rainstorm. As for why I watched over you...you're my brother; of course I had to make sure you were all right. But even if I had returned home earlier, it would not have prevented the deaths of my family, and chances are I would have also been killed in the blast."

"But..."

"Really, you have nothing to be sorry for." Sycamore found himself falling back into his habit of offering a gentle smile to those in need of one. "If I hadn't gone to check up on you, well, you said it yourself. You could have died in that alley with the injuries you sustained. Of course, it's horrible what happened, and I've never forgiven Targent for what they did, but the truth is, it could have been much, much worse."

Layton looked at the man for a moment before uttering a dry chuckle. "Listen to me, feeling sorry for myself when you'd been through far worse, and had just come out of another ordeal! I apologize for being so selfish. It's just...I'm sure I would have enjoyed meeting my sister-in-law and niece."

Sycamore's smile only broadened. "I'm sure they would have liked that too. Anna was an intellectual, and incredibly kind. Millie inherited some of her mother's qualities, and had an insatiable curiosity. They...brought me so much happiness, even if it was for a short while."

"It sounds like they were wonderful people."

"They were." The smile suddenly disappeared, replaced by a solemn expression. "Um...listen, Layton...about before...what you were saying about...having a keepsake...I think...I think I would like to see if anything still exists at the crash site."

"Of course," Layton told him. "We can go tomorrow. I only have one lecture, so I can take you there before lunchtime."

"Thank you..." 

* * *

"When you spoke of this being 'remote,' you were not exaggerating in the least," Layton remarked, turning the car onto the dirt road. "I'm not surprised no one has noticed the wreckage yet. In between the hills, and all of these trees, I can hardly see the Bostonius."

"Yes," Sycamore agreed, then pointed to a cluster of trees. "You'll want to park right up here. There is much debris, and I would hate for something to happen to your vehicle."

Layton complied, bringing the car to a stop. The two men exited, wordlessly trekking on ahead.

The horror of the wreckage reached Layton's sights before he passed the last tree. "My word..." The Bostonius, or what was left of it, was scattered across the ground in pieces of varying size. They seemed to lead a trail up to the side of a hill, where the largest piece had come to rest. "It's...it's just as you said, Desmond, but..."

Sycamore slowly walked past Layton and then stopped, observing the scene. "...it's unfathomable that anyone survived this. That's what you're thinking, isn't it? Well...I couldn't believe it, either. I don't know why I walked away with mere scratches and bruising, while Raymond's body lay broken on the hillside."

"I don't know what to say."

"Then say nothing, Layton." With a sigh, Sycamore approached a giant orange chunk surrounded by numerous personal belongings and trinkets. He stepped around and then knelt down, digging through the items.

Layton followed Sycamore's example and found another piece of the airship to examine. All he found were white cabinets with broken dishes spilling halfway out of them. _This must have been part of the kitchen. I remember those days when Aurora and Emmy would gather around the range to help Raymond cook._ Layton was then thrown out of the memory, surprised at himself. _This is Desmond's airship, not mine. We are not here to find anything precious for my sake._ But he couldn't deny a certain sadness at seeing the Bostonius in its current state.

Sycamore gave a soft chuckle in the distance. "Feeling nostalgic, Layton?" he asked, a joyless quip. "I haven't forgotten the trip with your friends...and the Azran girl, Aurora. Strange that that should be in the forefront of my mind in all my years of owning the Bostonius. But then...you all had made that journey memorable." He appeared to be holding an item in each hand.

"Did you find something, Desmond?" Layton asked.

"What?" Sycamore turned around as Layton approached. "Something like that..." he said, lifting his left hand. "The blasted ship was torn to bits, but my glasses case doesn't have a scratch on it...and believe it or not, the glasses inside are intact as well."

"Well, that's fortunate. But...that hat...did you...?"

"Yes." Sycamore pocketed the case and held up his other hand, which had in its grasp one of Descole's hats. "Sometimes I think I had too many of these, and not enough actual disguises." He scoffed. "Though for the sake of convenience..."

"Hmm..." Something then caught Layton's eye. "Oh."

"What is it?"

"That marker over there...is that...?"

Sycamore turned around, following Layton's gaze. They were looking at a mound of dirt close to the hill, with a fractured stake poking out of the end. "Y-yes. That is where I buried Raymond."

"But in your state..."

"I know. I don't know how I was able to do it. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, perhaps I was so numb that I didn't notice my own injuries. I just knew I wanted to do something for Raymond. I can never repay the debt I surely owe him, but..." He walked off toward the fresh grave, hat still in hand.

Layton quickly caught up with the man, and the two stopped just in front of the dirt.

"I...never said goodbye. When I found him, he was barely moving, with the blood trickling down his face. He managed to look up at me, uttering 'Master' with his final breath." With a deep sigh, Sycamore lowered himself to one knee, reaching out to the grave with his free hand. "Raymond...was my most loyal companion. I know I've said this before. I've known him even longer than the woman I would eventually marry. He did more than just look after the Sycamore household. He sometimes helped me with my research, and kept tabs on Targent. Anna and Millie were fond of him. Millie, especially, always wished to include him in family events..." His hand moved side to side in a slow, light motion, causing ribbon-like tracks in the dirt. "He was there when Descole was 'born.' He never...tried to sway me from taking my revenge. He simply suggested I take a hat with me." Desmond briefly lifted the item as if to demonstrate. "He helped me sew together the cloak. The ribbon had come from one of Millie's dresses, one of the few things that managed to survive the fire. The original boa was Anna's; by chance, she had left it in our car. Even the mask was inspired by a phase Millie went through after watching a certain movie. It sounds silly now, but keeping their belongings on my person, to me, it was a way of allowing them to get their revenge on Targent as well. But...now I see I was just blind with grief...and hatred. I know Anna would have wanted no part of such foul plots. And while Millie might have grasped the concept of revenge, she would not have understood why her father would show such cruelty to anyone else."

"Is that what you truly think, Desmond?"

"Of course. I can barely look back on my own misdeeds without revulsion and disgust. Why should they feel any differently?"

"Because, Desmond, they were your family. They will always be your family. You all meant something to each other, and I do not believe they would have easily abandoned their love for you. They might have felt shock or confusion, but undoubtedly they would have found compassion in their hearts for a man who has lost family twice in his young life."

"I appreciate what you are trying to say, Layton, but...it doesn't matter now. They're gone. It was...a nightmare in the months that followed their deaths. I couldn't prove Targent had anything to do with the explosions, so the police couldn't make any arrests. I...was about ready to give up, but seeing Raymond there, still carrying on, still so dedicated to serving me...I knew I had to find another purpose. He was there through every decision I made, sound or poor. He was there...when the Azran nightmare was over...and we embarked on a new adventure." Sycamore set the hat upon his own head, pulling it downward in an apparent attempt to hide his face. "He...was there...whenever I found myself still thinking of them. And now...he's gone...the last remaining tie...to my wife...and daughter..." He trailed off, head bowed, and there was a barely audible _pat_ , followed by another, and another, as tiny holes appeared in the dirt. Sycamore was trembling now, and it sounded as though he were trying to stifle something, but this soon gave way to tortured sobbing.

As the man wept, Layton's expression turned somber, and he removed his own hat in respect. He placed a sympathetic hand upon his elder brother's shoulder as he looked on, ever the silent guardian.


	2. Chapter 2

The two men concluded their business at the grave site, barely exchanging words as they returned to the car. The silence continued on the drive home, but Layton felt no topic of conversation would be an adequate remedy. 

_He did not get the chance to say goodbye to Raymond before his untimely death. Hopefully, this was closure for him..._

_Desmond...you've suffered so much in your life. May you find peace..._

It was still daytime when the red car pulled into a familiar driveway. Both men left the vehicle, but as they approached the house, Layton sensed that Sycamore was falling behind. 

"Layton.” 

At the sound of his name, he stopped and turned around. "Hm? What is it, Desmond?" 

"I...just wanted to thank you...for accepting me. For being there when I needed it, even if I didn't deserve it. For...everything, really." 

Layton cracked a smile. "No need to thank me. I was glad to do it. It's a pity you weren't able to bring something back with you." 

"Not to worry..." Sycamore reached into his pocket, producing a round gold object. 

"Is that...?" 

Sycamore nodded. "I gave this pocketwatch to Raymond one Christmas. I suppose he didn't really need it, but he treasured it all the same. It will require some repair..." 

"Well, that is fortunate." Layton unlocked the front door, allowing Sycamore to enter first. "What would you like to do now? Flora will be home in an hour. Incidentally, she has invited the both of us to an event taking place in the park tomorrow...if you feel up to it." 

Sycamore gave the man an odd sort of smile. "That sounds splendid. But if you don't mind, Layton, I'd prefer to retire to my room for a little while. I'm exhausted, you see." 

"Oh...of course. Rest as much as you need." 

"Thank you." 

* * *

It was unseasonably warm for the early spring afternoon, a welcome surprise for the city's residents. Many had shed their coats in favor of lighter but long-sleeved clothing. 

Flora had returned from school on what had been a rare half-day, with plans to take advantage of the free afternoon. After a light meal, she and the two professors headed toward the park, discussing the special event along the way. 

“...and this is a school function?” Layton was asking. 

"No, no," Flora replied. "Come on, Professor. I've been telling you about it for weeks. It's just a festival, with all the usual rides and games, but some teachers from my school will be running the raffle. And later on, there's going to be an outdoor play by some touring theater company." 

"Ah..." Layton felt sheepish. "Of course. You did mention that." 

"Honestly, Layton," an amused Sycamore said, "Do you not write things down in your diary?" 

"Ha! If he can even find it!" Flora shook her head. "I bet it's buried under all those books in his study!" 

"There's no need for that, now," Layton told her as they neared the entrance to the park. "I'm sorry for not keeping track of these things, Flora, but I do look forward to spending the day's events with you." 

"Good, because you promised." 

Next to the box office was a sign displaying the words, _Adult – £15, Child – free._ Layton approached the woman sitting behind the window. "Good afternoon, madam.” 

“Good afternoon,” she greeted him. “How many?” 

“Two adults and one child." 

The woman moved her hand to a red paper reel and detached three tickets. "That's thirty for you gentlemen, and free for the young lady. The show's included." She took the money Layton gave her, handing him the stubs in return. "Gates close at nine. Enjoy yourselves." 

"Thank you." 

The three walked past the front gate only to be greeted by the familiar combination of carnival music and shrieking laughter. Before Layton could turn to Flora, the girl was already pulling on his sleeve and pointing in a certain direction. 

"Professor! Let's go on that ride first!" 

"Hm?" Layton looked toward a tall cylindrical structure with a shorter, wider top that also served as its canopy. The underside was lined with two rows of brightly colored metal chairs, each one suspended by a quartet of long, thick chains. "Oh, yes..." He turned to Sycamore, whose expression was blank. "Is...is this all right, Desmond?" 

"Just as long as one remains seated the entire ride," the man quipped. "But...I'm afraid I must sit this one out...so to speak." 

"Huh?" Flora turned to Sycamore. "You don't want to go on the ride, Professor Sycamore?" 

"It's not that. Given my injuries, an activity such as this would be physically taxing for me. But please, go on. I'll wait here until you return." 

"Oh...okay...if you're sure..." 

Layton looked at Sycamore with a nod. To Flora, he said, "Let's go. We can find something suitable for the three of us afterward." 

The girl appeared to accept the suggestion. Sycamore watched as the two headed off toward the swing ride. _Layton...even now, you're still concerned for me. Your focus should be on the girl..._

Not that Sycamore could blame the man. _I've been in and out of his life these last few years. Perhaps it would have been better to have kept the secret of 'Hershel and Theodore Bronev.' He would only regard me as a former acquaintance and colleague...and as someone who betrayed his trust._

His musings were interrupted by the ride's operator, who made a brief announcement. A moment later, the machine started up, turning slowly at first. When the ride picked up speed, the structure began to extend upward, delighting several of the riders, including Flora. Higher the swings rose, and faster they spun, until they were positioned outward from the center at an almost forty-five degree angle. The top tilted from time to time as well. 

Sycamore continued looking upon the scene, almost fascinated with it. Though the rest of his party vanished and reappeared in his sights at a regular interval, he could see the joy in their expressions, presumably not just for the experience itself, but for the added bonus of sharing it with one another. Sycamore couldn't help it; it left him somewhat envious...and despondent. 

Flora looked down from her position then, her gaze fixed on the man. As if on cue, words from a past conversation echoed in his head. 

_"When I first walked in here, you looked so sad. The professor said you've been through a lot of things..."_

Embarrassed at having been caught with what must have been a rather miserable expression, an abashed Sycamore forced a smile and waved up at his companions. Flora did her best to wave back while Layton turned his head with a smirk. Satisfied with the interaction, the two brought their attention back to the ride. 

Sycamore breathed a sigh of relief. _That was too close,_ he thought, inwardly scolding himself. _I mustn't allow myself to become so lost in thought here._

Yet he had to admit, the atmosphere was one to stir up certain emotions. A family-oriented event at a family-friendly park, it was full of people of close blood relations, especially children – some of whom would call out for their parents from time to time. Every cry of "Daddy" or "Papa" was a reminder of the family he had lost years earlier. But as tempting as it was to nurture the pain and loss, it was not the place to do so. _Besides, no amount of despair and longing will bring them back...I must stay focused, and in the present..._

The session concluded as the swings lost their speed, the structure descending. When everything came to a full stop, Layton and Flora freed themselves and walked over to rejoin their companion. 

"That was great!" Flora was saying. "We could almost see over the park and the trees. Professor, it's a shame you couldn't join us." 

"Ah..." Out of habit, Sycamore's hand traveled to the knot of his tie. "Don't worry about me. It looks as though you had fun." 

"That we did," Layton said. "What shall we do next?" 

"How about some games?" suggested Flora. 

* * *

"Go, Professor!" Flora was shouting, her fists clenched, as she watched the row of participants engaged in competition. Her voice carried over the collective sounds of the general crowd, distant bells, and velcro darts latching on to their targets. "Go! Go! Er...you too, Professor! Go!" 

Both Layton and Sycamore were seated on hard yellow stools, wielding toy crossbows that were bolted to the counter before them. The weapons automatically reloaded with each shot, enabling their current owners to strike their targets rapidly. A buzzer sounded then, and the illustrated backdrops fell away, making room for ones free of projectiles. A bell signaled the second round, and the new backdrops soon became just as peppered as the old. 

After several rounds, the operator ended the game, announcing Sycamore as the winner. 

"Congratulations, Desmond," Layton said. "I would expect no less from you." 

"Thank you, Professor," Sycamore replied, smiling. "But it was close there at the end. You could have easily had the highest score." 

"Haha, as you say." 

They were interrupted by the man behind the counter, who approached them with a blue item in his hand. "All right, then." Turning to Sycamore, he held out the object – a smiling, stuffed animal clad in a police outfit. "For the winner. Congratulations." 

"Ah..." Sycamore stiffened slightly at the sight of the toy, but he accepted it. "Y-yes. Thank you very much." 

"You're welcome. Be sure to visit us again!" 

"What did you win, Professor Sycamore?" Flora hurried over, and her eyes went wide with delight as soon as she saw the prize. "Oh, how cute! It even has a truncheon and everything! What's that say on the tag... 'PC... Badger'? First time I've seen one of those!" 

"Is that so...?" Without hesitating, Sycamore extended his arm toward the girl. "Would you like to have it, Flora?" 

"R-really? You don't want it?" 

"I'm afraid I don't have much use for a stuffed badger. I imagine you would give it a better home." 

"Oh, that's..." Taking the toy, Flora paused a moment, and then wrapped her arms around it. "Thank you, Professor!" 

"You're welcome, Flora." 

* * *

After visiting a few more side stalls – and Flora winning a blanket from a racing game – the trio decided to move on to another ride. 

Flora was first to approach the Ferris wheel. "This one's even bigger than the one we had back home. We'll be able to fit in one cabin!" 

Sycamore detected an unease coming from Layton, who was dragging behind. "Is something the matter, Layton?" 

"Oh..." Layton stopped, prompting the others to do the same. "Hahaha. Let's just say that my experience with Ferris wheels has been...atypical. However..." He turned toward the giant structure. "...I imagine today will be different." 

After a short wait in line, the three entered one of the covered cabins, seating themselves on opposing benches. Flora sat beside Layton, while Sycamore had the other bench to himself. 

"I can't wait until we reach the top," Flora said. "I bet you see even more of the city there." The climb was slow as newer passengers boarded in forty-five second intervals, but this did not dampen her spirits. "Oh, guess what, Professor? You remember Mrs. Johnson from down the street, and how she's always painting landscapes? Well, she does face painting, too. She'll be here doing that today, so we should pay her a visit. She does flowers, logos, star shapes, and even animal faces. In fact, she can do all sorts of designs." 

Sycamore couldn't help himself; a smirk was plastered on his face. "Animal faces? That would be a more fitting look for you, wouldn't it, Professor?" 

Layton chuckled in response. "Oh, Desmond, there's no need to bring that up. Luke and I were doing only what was necessary." 

Flora looked up at him in curiosity. "Huh? What was necessary, Professor? Painting your face?" 

"Ahem...well...during the adventure Luke and I took with Professor Sycamore here, we found ourselves in a situation where a bit of theater was required." 

"'Th-theater'?" Sycamore repeated with a snort. "Granted, that was a flawless impression of a duck..." 

"Aww," the girl said with a small pout. "You made yourself up like a duck? I would have loved to see that." 

Layton directed his gaze elsewhere. "Yes...tragically, that performance has been lost to the ages..." 

"It was barely a year ago, Layton." As Sycamore spoke to his companions, he noticed something different about the setting. "Huh?" He looked around, seeing a background of pale blue. 

"Hey, we're almost at the top now," Flora said, turning toward the open window on her side. "You can see my school from here." 

"Yes," said Layton. "And what a splendid view, with the emerging greenery." 

Sycamore positioned himself in order to share the same view, but something stopped him cold – the staggering distance between him and the ground below. There were also plenty of trees and shrubs, and the Thames sparkling in the afternoon sun, but for all Sycamore was focused on, such sights might as well have not existed. A gust blew against the cabin at that moment, causing it to rock slightly. 

_"Master..."_ he could hear in his head. A fear ripped through him as his surroundings vanished. Once again, he was being violently tossed about the Bostonius, with Raymond calling out to him. _"Please, brace yourself, Master. This landing...will not be kind..."_

Sycamore immediately shrank back with a gasp, catching the attention of Layton and Flora. Flinching, he shut his eyes and brought his head down, hand traveling to his heart. He began to count to ten silently, in an attempt to slow his sudden rapid breaths. 

"Desmond, are you all right?" Layton asked in alarm. "Is it the height? How careless of me – I should have realized...!" 

"Ugh..." After he had calmed down somewhat, Sycamore opened his eyes. "N...no, I'm just...lightheaded, is all. I'll...I'll be fine, just..." 

Flora was studying the man with concern. "...um, we don't have to do the face painting. We could get something to eat if you don't feel well." 

"Oh...please...don't...don't worry...about me. I'll just...need to adjust, that's all." He could only imagine how pale he still looked, but he couldn't let that stop him from taking in the experience of the ride. With a forced smile, he said, "So...what else do you see out there?" 

"Um..." It was evident the girl had her doubts about Sycamore's condition, but she decided to humor him. "Well...if you look across the river, there's the bakery, and a church. The building next to it is the greengrocer's. It's closed for the afternoon, though...at least, that's what my friend Cassidy said. Her parents own the store." 

"Is that so? Perhaps you'll see her today." 

"Maybe. She said she was going to be here..." 

The rest of the ride continued without another episode. After the three exited, they headed for the nearest food truck--despite Flora's initial plans, she herself was not able to hold out any longer. The meal was followed by face painting, though only Flora opted for an illustration upon her cheek – a violet paired together with a dahlia. 

As the three headed toward their next destination, Flora waved back at the woman who had done the painting. "Thanks, Mrs. Johnson!" To the two professors, she said, "I think the play is going to start soon." 

"Then let us hurry if we are to find some seats," said Layton. 

"Actually, it's the sort of show where you bring your own seat, Professor. Or you could just sit on a blanket on the grass. Anyway, let's go!" Flora pushed ahead, her prizes in hand, while the two men picked up the pace behind her. Soon, they came upon a wide, grassy area where the ground sloped and then continued at a slight decline across the lawn; at the end was a performance stage with the curtains drawn. Surrounding the area were several stage lights and enormous speakers. 

"What an impressive set-up," Sycamore commented. "Those in charge certainly had the audience in mind." 

"Yes," Layton agreed. "There is an excellent view of the stage, regardless of where one sits." 

Though there was ample space, families were moving in to fill it quickly. Following their example, Sycamore slowed his pace. "This looks like a fine spot." 

"Okay." Flora tucked the PC Badger under her arm and held out the blanket as both Layton and Sycamore assisted. Together they spread the heavy fabric across an area of grass and then all sat down. 

"You didn't happen to catch the title of this play, did you, Layton?" Sycamore asked, turning to the man. 

"According to a flyer I saw at the box office, it's called 'A Heart's Treasure'." 

"Ah, is it now?" 

Layton nodded. "Are you familiar with this production, Desmond?" 

A smile formed on Sycamore's face, almost reflexively. "You might say that I am. Years ago, it was released as an animated film. I took my family to see it, and it became Millie's favorite movie. But a theater adaptation...this will be something to see." 

"So, it's good?" Flora asked. "What's it about?" 

"If I remember, it's about a young girl from a rural village. Her people live in a time of great war, but due to their location, they are generally unaffected and go about their lives. Their peace is disrupted one day when their village unexpectedly becomes a battlefield for the warring countries. In the chaos, the girl is separated from her family and friends and, not having ventured from home for any long period of time, becomes lost in the wilderness. There she encounters a group of thieves, who decide to take her in. They go on many an adventure, and--" Seeing Flora's quizzical expression, he said, "Well, I suppose that much might appeal to someone your age, but the overall story holds some literary value for older viewers." 

Layton chuckled. "Well, it's certainly caught my interest." 

* * *

_"...I will have none of that here!"_ shouted the young actress on stage. She was dressed in a ruffled white dress shirt, black pants, and knee-high boots, and a red bandanna was tied around her head. Pointing a dagger at a group of steel-clad soldiers, she sported her most menacing glare. 

Her attempt at intimidation only backfired, as the men erupted into laughter. 

_"Oh ho!"_ The soldier in front, whose great rank was indicated by the bright markings of his cape, stepped forward. _"And who might you be, young one? A pirate's daughter?"_ The question was followed by another round of amused howling. 

_"No, I am one of 'them'!"_ the girl declared, pointing offstage past the group. _"I am a proud member of the Diamond Guild, and I will not let you take over this place!"_

_"A petty thief? Hold your tongue, girl. Do you not realize to whom you are speaking? I am General Stonebreaker, the King's Blade, and I have taken countless cities with nothing but my own strength. Griffon's Peak is no exception; I shall claim this city in the name of His Majesty, and the Griffon Knights shall answer to his command--"_

_"I don't give a fairy's flying fart who you are,"_ retorted the girl, prompting scattered giggles from the audience. _"This city belongs to the Empire! You can tell your stuffy old king... that Miss Nan said to stuff it! Now get lost!"_

One of the other men joined his commanding officer. _"Listen, you little brat. King Surles ordered us to destroy anyone who opposes his rule. Don't think I won't raise my blade against you just because you're a child."_ To emphasize that point, he moved a hand to the hilt of his sword, which was resting in its sheath. 

Just then, a male voice called out, _"What mighty words... from such a little man."_

The group looked around in different directions, and then, a large figure appeared on the stage. 

"Ah..." Sycamore leaned forward where he was sitting, studying the costumed creature. The 'animal' slowly moved until it was beside the girl named Nan, but remained upstage. "I was wondering how they would manage this part." 

"That is one big monster," Flora remarked. "It's supposed to be a griffon, right?" 

"Yes. Do you see how they pulled off the costume? It is similar to when two adults don a horse costume, except both persons are standing up straight. One actor is wearing the eagle head and moves the front talons with his legs, while the other actor plays the part of the knight riding the griffon. In reality, he is moving the lion's legs, and the legs straddling the saddle are props. Of course, his own legs aren't fully concealed, but he is wearing black tights in order to blend in with the background." 

"That certainly is one way to do it," Layton said. 

_"...and yet you claim that the Griffon Knights will bow down to your king?"_ the man on the saddle was saying. _"Balderdash! Our loyalty is, first and foremost, to this great country and our beloved emperor. We shall defend our home with all our might. Listen well, steel ravens. The price for attempting siege of Griffon's Peak is a heavy one. You have two options: either leave now of your own accord, or after_ _you are soundly defeated. Now choose."_

A silence fell over the stage as the lights began to dim. After a moment, the curtains came together, and a voice came through the loudspeaker. 

_"Ladies and gentlemen, we will now begin a fifteen minute interval. Get up, stretch your legs, have a snack, or relax, but be sure to join us for the conclusion of 'A Heart's Treasure'."_

"What a fascinating story," Layton remarked. "At first, it appears to be a simple children's tale, but it draws you in. Desmond, you were right." 

Sycamore nodded. "I could not contain my surprise the first time I watched the film. The parallels to history are subtle, but evident." 

"Yes, and the symbolism of the power struggle there--" 

"Professor?" a distant voice cut in. "Professor Layton?" 

"Hm?" Layton turned as the familiar sight of a short man in glasses and a brown toupee approached. "Dean Delmona? Is that you?" 

"Professor," Delmona said, finally reaching the group. "How fortuitous that we are both in attendance here today! I hate to pry you away from your party, but..." He stopped, noticing the other two. "Oh, please forgive an old man's manners! Wonderful to see you again, Miss Flora. And...my word, is that Professor Sycamore? The world of archaeology hasn't heard from you in months...! Well, I suppose, given your specialty, you may be pursuing new interests, but you are certainly missed!" 

"I don't mean to interrupt, Dean Delmona, but did you need to speak with me?" 

"Oh! Absolutely!" The older man brought a hand to the frames of his specs, nervously fiddling with them. "Uh...what was that now...oh yes! Do you remember the expedition several weeks ago? One of our students brought back an incredible artifact. Authenticating it is not a problem, it is convincing the curator of the museum to display it. He believes its origin but not its value." 

"I'm not exactly an appraiser myself, but...what can I do to help?" 

"As it so happens, the curator is also here with his family. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind speaking with him for a few minutes? It would be beneficial for Gressenheller." 

"Not at all, but..." Layton turned to his companions. "Might I leave you two for a moment? There is something that demands my attention." 

"Well, if you must,” Sycamore replied. 

"You're gonna be back soon, right, Professor?" Flora asked. 

Layton moved himself to a standing position. "That depends on the length of the conversation with the curator. I shall do my best, however." 

As the two men walked off, Sycamore caught the drawn-out sigh coming from his right. "Is something the matter, Flora?" 

The girl sat with the stuffed badger in her hands, fiddling with its helmet. "It's just...it seems like the professor is always off doing something, and I'm always waiting around until he gets back. When he took me in a few months ago, I thought we'd get to spend more time together." 

"I'm sorry to hear that. He tends to be a busy man, but I can't imagine he wouldn't make time for you." 

"Well, he does. But other times, like now, someone else ends up dragging him away. It was even worse when Luke was here, and they were going all over the place. I'd try to tag along, and the professor would be like, 'No, you must stay here, Flora! It's far too dangerous! A true gentleman insists!'" 

The impression drew a chuckle from Sycamore. "That does sound like him. But if the journey I took with him is any indication of his typical adventure, then he was probably not exaggerating about the danger." 

"But he let Luke go along," Flora pointed out. "And we're around the same age. It's not fair. I had to sneak on board a train once just so that I could join them. In disguise, even!" 

"Really? And what happened?" 

"Well, they caught me after a while but let me stay. And we got to visit a nice town! And...well...okay, I ended up getting kidnapped and left in some barn. But that was one time! And the guy who did it was a big meanie with a grudge against the professor! Err...okay...and there was that other time I tagged along, but it's not like I was the only one to get kidnapped!" 

"So in other words, the professor was correct," Sycamore said, and was met with a sour look from the girl. "About the danger, Flora. I don't agree that he should just leave you by yourself while he goes off on adventures...though I suspect this is not something done intentionally. In the meantime, might I offer a suggestion? Whenever Layton is away, perhaps you could seek an adventure for yourself? Find something that interests you, something that enriches your life. Take a talent and cultivate it. Study an unusual subject, make a new friend, find out what you are good at. We live in an age where a child's day is sometimes structured down to the last second. I know that the professor's absence can be disappointing, but you might also see it as an opportunity to better yourself." 

Taking in those words, Flora looked up at him. "I...guess I never really thought of it like that. Hmm. Well, I like cooking, though sometimes things end up...not looking the way they should in the picture. Or being even remotely edible." 

Sycamore gave a small laugh. "Then there's one thing. You could hone your culinary skills. Anything else?" 

"Not really. The professor was tutoring me part-time, but it's hard to have lessons when he isn't here." 

"Well, don't despair. You're young. You have more than enough time to find your passion. As for your lessons, I don't see anything wrong with reading up on the subject, even if you're ahead." 

"Is that what you did?" the girl asked. "I mean, going into archaeology and all." 

"Oh..." Unwanted memories were returning to Sycamore, and he felt his face grow warm. "Well, you could say that from a young age, it was the direction I knew my life would take. But now, I find myself at a crossroads. I may very well have to choose another path, myself." 

"Really? But there's so much in archaeology, from what I've read." 

He nodded. "Yes, but for personal reasons, my specialty was the Azran civilization. Since the ultimate discovery was made months ago, there isn't much else for me to do there. And honestly, I don't know what else will hold my interest." 

Flora shrugged. "Well, you never know. You might even like studying the pyramids or something." 

"Haha. That is a possibility." 

* * *

The break had come and gone, but Professor Layton had not returned. Flora's initial disappointment was replaced with enchantment by the production, a once simple tale that had evolved into something greater. There were times inquiries escaped her, only to be met by a quick response from Sycamore. Flora shifted her position toward the man, listening carefully to any commentary he provided. Together, they watched as the strong victory obtained by the heroes at the start of the second act gave way to a series of crushing defeats. As alliances were questioned, the group of friends that had once joined in unity became scattered, and the girl named Nan found herself alone again. 

Nan paced slowly about the stage, which had been reduced to a small section of worn floorboards and a background of black curtains. _"How did this happen?"_ she pondered aloud. _"I thought the kingdom would finally back off. I thought fighting together with the empire would make this stupid war end sooner. Someone is always fighting, but they don't care who gets hurt. So many people have nothing to do with this war..."_

The black curtains parted then, revealing a giant stone fountain surrounded by foliage. Taking her cue, Nan turned and approached the structure, which was adorned with cherub figurines. She sat at the edge, dipping her hand into the water. _"I don't even know how we're supposed to fight when everybody's separated. Kenneth was right. It was a mistake to help the empire. We should've just let everything be, but..."_

The girl uttered a sigh, lifting her hand and shaking it dry. _"...all I wanted was to go back to my village, to be with my family and friends. I didn't care about anything else. And then...as soon as I found some new friends, they were taken from me. And...I didn't realize how wonderful they were."_ She tilted her head down, sniffling. _"If...if only I'd listened to them, they wouldn't have been captured. And Andrew...won't even talk to me. I'm...I'm all alone..."_

_"Who's all alone?"_ a grumpy voice bellowed. _"The nerve of some people..."_

Nan turned in surprise as a creature as tall as a man stepped onto the stage. The facial features of the actor's mask were greatly exaggerated, featuring a large nose, chin, and ears, and a few teeth plagued by wide gaps. There was a tan carpet of a mane that started from the crown of his head and traveled down his neck, covering his jaw and chest. He was barefoot, but he wore a threadbare vest and old pants with a rope belt. 

“ _Can you believe it?”_ the creature ranted. _"I've got some human brat blubbering in my fountain when I'm trying to get some shut-eye! Don't you know what time it is, girl? I've got a full day tomorrow, and-- wait, what are you doing, crying in my fountain, anyway?"_

"Who's that?" Flora asked quietly. 

"That is Fletcher, the cantankerous old troll with a generous heart," Sycamore said. "One could say he's a character who is full of surprises." 

“He doesn't look all that much like a troll. It just seems like he should be, I dunno... stockier?” 

“Haha. I suppose not everything translates as well from animation to the stage.” 

“ _...and nothing lasts forever,”_ Fletcher was saying. _“Not even the cold shoulder this 'Andrew' fellow is giving you.”_

“ _I don't know,”_ said Nan. _“I think he really meant it when he said he never wanted to see me again. And why not? I got his friends locked up over something so stupid.”_

“ _Last I checked, they were your friends too. Not to mention, they all have minds and wills of their own, yes? They didn't have to go along with anything you suggested. Besides, you were planning to rescue them, weren't you? They'd be pretty stubborn not to take you up on that.” Fletcher paused, making a gesture that indicated he was mulling over something. “Well, if Andrew can't be bothered to work with you, then I'll help you break into those cells. Not because I'm a nice guy...I've got some business with the kingdom myself. But not tonight; we'll need to come up with a solid plan before heading out.”_

“ _I...”_ A tearful Nan looked up at him. _“Thank you.”_

“ _Don't thank me until it's over. Now, come along. My home is just past those trees. I only have a rug to spare, but I reckon it'll do the job. You don't intend to fall asleep under this fountain, do you?”_

It wasn't long before the heroine of the play found her reason to hope, and a dire situation turned around in favor of the heroes once more. With the plot picking back up, it gave an impression that a resolution was imminent. 

Feeling a sense of relief from this, Flora continued to watch with interest...and eventually, drowsiness. Eventually, she began to lean against Sycamore, holding onto his arm as casually as she would have with a parent years ago. In her free hand was the stuffed badger the man had won earlier. Content with where she was, the remaining scenes began to join in a blur, and the sounds of victory and celebration lulled her to sleep. 

Sycamore himself was completely absorbed by the production, whether due to literary reasons, as he had explained to Layton, or just nostalgia. Out of a long forgotten habit, he loosened his arm from Flora's grasp and brought it around her, and they stayed this way until the play had concluded. 

As the the actors returned on stage to take their final bows, Sycamore realized he was holding the sleeping girl. "Flora," he said over the sound of applause. "It's time to get up. The play is over." When she began to stir, he moved his arm back, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Are you awake now? The show is over. We should go find the professor." 

Disoriented, the girl opened her eyes and pushed herself away slightly. "What? It's over?" Turning to face Sycamore, she gasped in surprise, realizing what had happened. "Uh..." She brought her head back down, her cheeks turning scarlet. "S-sorry. I wasn't-- I mean, I didn't-- I, um, I didn't mean to fall asleep on you. Literally, even." 

"There's no need to apologize, Flora. If anything, I should apologize. You are in the care of the professor, and I am but a stranger to you." 

"Oh--" 

"Flora! Desmond!" 

The two turned as a familiar gentleman in a top hat approached them. "I hope you can forgive me for my long absence. I wasn't expecting the museum curator to be...a challenge." 

"Well, all that matters is that you've returned, safe and sound." Sycamore slowly stood up, stepping off of the blanket. "Of course, now it is you who is burdened with the task of choosing our next destination." 

"Fair enough," Layton said, smiling, and then turned to the girl, who was following Sycamore's cue. "Flora, what did you think of tonight's production?" 

"Oh, I thought it was good, but...I got a little sleepy at the end. It sounds like Nan found her family and got to keep all her friends, though. And I guess the kingdom called a truce with the empire? I mean, after they kicked out that rotten old king." 

"Ah, that reminds me," Sycamore said. "I saw somewhere that the play was being recorded. If you don't mind, I would like to find out if they are selling copies." 

"Go on. We'll be here waiting." Layton reached down and, with Flora's help, shook the blanket free of dirt and loose grass. As they folded up the item, Layton couldn't help but notice that the girl seemed troubled. "Flora, dear, is something the matter?" When he received a vague, mumbled reply, he added, "Incidentally, I did look in your direction at times, and managed to see some of the second act. You and the professor seemed to be enjoying the story." 

Flora only seemed to grow more embarrassed. "I guess...well..." 

"What is it?" 

"I...when I woke up, I...I thought it was Papa hugging me." 

"That's not surprising. Professor Sycamore had a child of his own and may have been acting out of instinct. But..." Layton studied the girl's expression. "...did something else happen? You seem flustered. I'm truly sorry to have left you for so long." 

She shook her head. "No, we just watched the play." 

"Then are you upset about what the professor did?" 

"No, that's just it," she insisted, though the words contradicted her anxious expression. "I was happy. I felt safe. The last time I felt that way...was when both my parents were still alive...and...I don't know. I feel like...that's wrong somehow...like I'm disrespecting their memory." 

"Yes, I can see why you might feel that way. But you shouldn't feel guilty about connecting with others. If nothing else, your parents wanted you to be happy." 

"But...the professor is practically a stranger, isn't he?" 

"True. But Flora, remember that I, too, was once a stranger to you. Yet here we are, months later, attending festivals and living under the same roof. Of course, I'm not suggesting a complete disregard for boundaries, or that you run off with every new person you meet, but you shouldn't fear the possibility of befriending someone new. Professor Sycamore appears to enjoy your company, so if you enjoy his as well, then there's nothing wrong with that." 

"M-maybe..." Still unsure, Flora finally lifted her gaze. Just then, something – or someone – caught her eye. "Oh, Cassidy's here. And Mona's with her. Professor, could I go visit with them for a while?" 

"Of course, Flora," Layton told her. "Just let me know where you'll be, if you plan to go far. And do think about what I've said." 

Flora nodded, and then hurried across the lawn to meet with the two young girls. 

Layton was picking up the stuffed animal when he noticed Sycamore returning. 

"Pity," the man remarked. "The recording won't be available to the public for at least two months." 

Layton chuckled. "You mean to tell me that you didn't use your celebrity status to sway their decision?" 

"Hahaha. It's nothing like that. The cameraman has been recording all of the shows across the country. When the tour ends, he intends to combine the best version of each scene into one finished project." Seeing what Layton was doing, he asked, "Has Flora run off somewhere?" 

"Yes. She went to meet some friends." 

"I see." 

Layton took a moment to mull over something. "Desmond. I confess that, since the second act of the play, something has been bothering me. I was only able to see part of it, but...in the scene where the Diamond Guild attends the masquerade ball, uninvited, the character Cory claims he has stolen something known as 'the Mask of Jean.' Now, that wouldn't happen to be...?" 

"Ah..." A smile had spread across the man's lips, but there was no mirth in his eyes. "I knew it would be obvious. You see, Layton, when I lost my family and home, that included nearly all of my possessions. There were no photographs to look back on, no treasures shared between my wife, my daughter and me...except for the memories. This play...or rather, this story...was one such memory. Millie loved the masquerade scene so. I don't know what I was thinking back then, but men are sometimes driven mad by their grief. I...don't expect you or anyone else to understand." 

"That's not fair, Desmond. I understand grief all too well, and the need to cope. To understand is not to condone someone's actions, nor is it an arrogant exercise in equating a unique experience with one's own. You have my understanding, and you have my compassion, whether you want it or not. I...I hope you know that." 

The man nodded, still despondent. "I do...despite being undeserving of such things." 

"You are family, Desmond." 

"As was Bronev." 

"And Bronev received the extent of my understanding and kindness to which he was entitled," Layton explained. "It's true he isn't in my life, but he had many chances to turn from his evil ways. He committed many atrocities, and had people killed, including your wife and daughter. Whether it was intentional or not, he expressed no remorse for his crimes for thirty years. While claiming his ambition was all for humanity, he had lost his own in the process. I have forgiven him, but too much has happened, and our interactions from this point can only be as colleagues. You, on the other hand, at least tried not to be so reckless. Sometimes you failed, but even with revenge on your mind, it was not in your nature to harm innocents." 

"Layton..." 

"I hope you consider me as family as well, Desmond." The words were already out before Layton realized how they sounded. He gave a small, embarrassed chuckle. "No...I am also not being fair. Though I took you in and tended to your wounds, you are no more obligated to call me 'brother' than a mere stranger would be. There are times that call for boldness, but...I may have let recent events influence my decisions greatly, especially after being confronted by my own shortcomings. Today was one example." 

"What do you mean?" Sycamore asked. 

"I think...no...I knew...that Flora would be safe in your care. In fact, I fully expected her to be. When I said the museum curator was being difficult, I wasn't being entirely truthful. It did take some effort to win him over, but the rest of the time was spent discussing other topics, or watching the play." 

"So...you finished earlier than previously stated, but decided not to return? Why?" 

Layton lowered his gaze. "Do you remember when I told you that I feared wasting Flora's potential?" 

Sycamore nodded. "If I recall, it was a topic you did not wish to throw at me in my condition." 

"Yes. It is a topic of...heavy discussion. Flora is a bright and caring girl. She is also an orphan, a child Luke and I encountered while investigating mysteries surrounding an inheritance. She had been alone for so long. It was her father's dying wish that she end up in the care of someone good and competent, someone to ensure she was brought up properly. He wanted her to see the world, and not spend the remainder of her childhood trapped in that village." 

"So you took her in and are doing just that." 

Layton shook his head. "Augustus Reinhold had a certain type of person in mind, but as the months pass, I remain unconvinced that I am this person. I truly mean to care for his daughter, but much of the time, I have failed to do this one task. Mentoring is one thing, but...parenting comes with more than just a daily lesson. I fear I am not cut out for that kind of responsibility." 

"What?" Sycamore's confused look soon turned into sympathy. "Oh, Layton, you are overthinking this, I assure you. It is true that children need parents, but it's also true that parents don't always know what they are doing in the moment. Do you think that, when my daughter was born, I became an expert overnight? Of course not...but I learned much along the way. If nothing else, you are aware of Flora's needs, and you try to meet them. Could you put forth more effort? Yes. And you mustn't allow any perceived weaknesses of your own to hinder your ability in raising the girl. I believe you are capable. If you disagree, then think of Roland and Lucille, who raised a fine gentleman, despite their lack of a biological link." 

"I..." The man in the top hat paused, absorbing those words. "Thank you, Desmond. You don't know what it means to hear you say that. But even so...I don't believe I am the father that Flora needs me to be. I will do what I can for her...but I am not capable of mending the hole in her heart. You, however..." 

Sycamore's mouth fell open in surprise. 

"...it has been mere days, but you have easily gotten along with her. It isn't just because you have always been good with children, or because Flora needs someone to talk to when I'm not around. I see a special bond between you two, and...I believe that's the way it should be." 

"A-aren't you being rather hasty here?" Sycamore asked nervously. "I admit our situations...bear some similarities. However, if connecting with another over tragedy and loss were an automatic act, there would be fewer lonely people on this planet. But...let's just say there was such a bond. What then? You know just as well as I that I'm in no position to care for a child. It has barely been a week since I lost Raymond and the Bostonius. As much as I appreciate you being there for me, I cannot expect you to support me indefinitely. I must rebuild my own life, and I cannot burden a child with my struggles. Furthermore, should the police ever learn the truth about 'Jean Descole,' it won't matter if Flora and I have connected. I cannot raise her from behind a prison wall." 

Layton's disappointment was obvious, but he was quick to reel it in. "Just...consider it, Desmond. It's been said that, if you want to accomplish something, there is always a way. Of course, I won't push you to do anything you aren't interested in doing. I also want to see you rebuild your life, regardless of what that means." 

"I know, Layton." 

"Professor!" 

The two men turned as Flora and two other girls walked up to them. 

"Professor, we--" She stopped, noticing the looks on the men's faces. "Um...did I interrupt something?" 

"No, Flora," said Layton. "Is there something you needed?" To the other girls, he said, "Good evening, Cassidy, Mona." 

"Hi, Professor," they greeted him in unison. 

"Mona was telling us about the house of mirrors," Flora said. "Could we please go?" 

"Of course. We'll be in the area if you need us. Have fun." 

“Okay. See you later, Professor. You too, Professor Sycamore.” 

Sycamore nodded. “Do enjoy yourselves.” 

With a grin, Flora turned to her friends, and the three girls hurried on their way. 

"Well then," Layton started. "Shall we find this 'house of mirrors'?" 

"You aren't going to follow them, are you, Layton?" Sycamore asked. 

"Not the words I would choose, but I do believe you saddled me with the task of choosing our next activity. Have you ever been to one of these places, Desmond?" 

"Well, yes. I don't expect that you remember." 

"Remember what?" 

"It would have been... three years before the Laytons adopted you. Possibly four. Our parents had taken us to the fairgrounds one day, and at one point, we found a building with a mirror maze. I was easily amused, but being a toddler, you had no idea what was going on." A smile spread across Sycamore's face at the memory. "I tried to show you how one of the mirrors distorted the image of your head, but all you did was scream and soil your trousers. Oh, I got such a scolding from Mother that day..." 

As Sycamore chuckled, Layton wordlessly expressed his discomfort at the portrayal of his younger self. "Well, I assure you, Desmond, I have long since outgrown that...most unfortunate habit, and there will not be a repeat of what happened that day." 

"I certainly hope not. I doubt even you could explain that one to Flora. Hahaha." 

* * *

A short while later, Layton and Sycamore were nearing a cluster of large structures draped in striped, colorful fabric. 

Sycamore stopped before one of the tents, a festive banner with the words 'Fun House' hanging above the entrance. "This must be the place." 

The two went inside to find a narrow hall lined with full length mirrors, each pane uniquely warped. There were the sounds of children enjoying themselves nearby, but none of the voices belonged to the three girls. 

"Oh." Sycamore happened to turn his sights toward a mirror, stepping toward it. "What a dreadful sight." He stared at his reflection, which alternated between wide and narrow, from the top of his head to his feet. 

"Were you expecting something else this time, Desmond?" Layton asked him. 

"No, but it has been decades since I've set foot in one of these places. It is interesting from an adult perspective." He bent his knees slightly, and then straightened them, changing the points of distortion. 

"Haha. Well, as long as you're having fun, then this attraction has accomplished its purpose." 

"That it has." Sycamore moved his head from side to side, paused, and then turned away from the mirror. "Shall we move on-- hmm?" 

"What is it?" Layton asked. 

Sycamore looked over his shoulder, expecting...something, but wasn't sure what. "N...no, it's nothing. Just my imagination..." 

The two men went down the mirror-flanked walkway, which abruptly turned in the opposite direction before leading into a second hall. The maze continued until finally, the path opened up to a large room. More panes stood nearly parallel to the edges of the tent, and in the center were six more mirrors, arranged so that they were adjacent to one another and facing outward. Only a mother and her two children were present, heading toward the hall on the opposite side. The exit, Sycamore presumed. 

"We must have just missed them," Layton said. "Shall we wait outside in case they've gone to another tent?" 

"That does appear to be our best option." Sycamore started to follow Layton out of the room when something else caught his attention. This time, it was vocal. _Laughter...could it be?_ He turned around, but no one else was there. Perplexed, he took a few steps until he was nearly in the middle of the room, and then stopped as though waiting for a cue. When there was none, he shook his head and decided to go back. 

_"Just what do you think you're doing?"_

Alarmed, Sycamore quickly turned toward the one mirror that contained something that should not have been there. A feeling of dread hit him all at once. _No...that's impossible..._

_"What is it? Did you miss me, dear Professor?"_

Sycamore found himself paralyzed by the wicked laugh that followed, as though it threatened to destroy every positive experience he'd had that day. Just when he'd gotten used to the idea of moving on, some awful curse from the past had returned...manifesting itself as the clear, full length image of Jean Descole. "How did...? Where did you come from?" 

_"Come now, Professor. I never left. I will never leave, no matter how much you pretend I don't exist."_

"But you don't. Not officially. You have eluded the police these last few years...you might as well have been a phantom." 

The weak response only amused the masked man. _"Still so naive? Just how difficult do you think it is to find something that doesn't officially exist? After all, there was a point in our history when the Azran didn't exist."_

Sycamore stiffened at those words. "What do you want?" 

_"You are the one who created me. This is about you and what you want."_

"What I want...?" 

_"Yes. You are a man incapable of living in the moment. You are always looking back, or tempting fate. You appreciate nothing...not until it is tragically taken from you."_

"Wh-what?" Sycamore's appalled expression quickly turned to shock as Descole suddenly vanished. 

_"Do you deny it? Even as a child, the Azran became your sole purpose for existing. You were disturbingly fixated on them, yet at the same time, you thought so highly of yourself for sending Theodore Bronev to live with the Laytons in your place.”_ The voice scoffed. _“As though that were a noble act. But I'm sure your self-praise was a source of comfort in dark times. Meanwhile, you were so obsessed with revenge that you couldn't be bothered to reach out to him these last few decades. You could have had that connection with your brother all those years, but you threw that away for pride, like a bloody fool."_

"How...how dare you?!" 

Just then, Descole reappeared in a different mirror. _"No. How dare_ _YOU_ _\--the coward who gave up what he loved the most for the sake of revenge--go on as though he did nothing wrong? Desmond Sycamore, a pitiful excuse for a human being, seeking rewards for--what, exactly? Being a martyr of his own making? You disgust me. Perhaps someone should have informed you long ago that there was no need to pursue Targent and the Azran. Had you left those alone, you could have had that happy life that you so desired. Instead...well, you don't need a mirror to see what vengeance has gotten you."_

"Y-You..." Sycamore was shaking with anger. 

_"There's no need for that. Remember, I am a part of you, and I know you better than anyone. I know the meaningless words you use to convince yourself that your struggles are not in vain. I know the vast emptiness inside of you, for it was that void that gave birth to me. I know how your heart aches for the family you lost, how you want nothing more than to return to that role of devoted husband and father.”_ He let out a sigh. _“To wind back the clock...yet it's so easy, isn't it? Easy to claim something as precious while barely showing appreciation for it, and then doubling your efforts in mourning your loss when the time comes."_

"I...that's...that's not how it is..." 

_"Oh, it isn't? Can you honestly tell me you spent more time with your wife and child than you did pursuing the Azran? Look at the relationship you have with your own brother. Decades of estrangement, followed by deceit. This was a person you claimed was precious to you when you were children. Yet once he got in the way of your goal, you did not hesitate to make an attempt on his life. But in your heart of hearts, you are grateful that you failed, because that would mean one more person to mourn."_

_"He's right,"_ a female voice chimed in. In another mirror, a young woman appeared, her expression a mix of sadness and disappointment. _"So many nights you were gone. You just couldn't leave it alone, could you, darling? Going against Targent...you knew it wasn't safe, and worse, you weren't there to protect us."_ Beside her, a girl barely past her toddler years came into view. 

_"I never got to show you all the pictures I drew, Daddy. You were so busy. I never got to see you."_

Sycamore's heart was twisting itself, and all he could do was choke on the words he desperately wished to say. The tears started to well up in his eyes. 

_"Master."_

At the sound of Raymond addressing him, Sycamore turned to see the man's image filling a different pane. 

_"All those years serving you...and yet, I find myself wondering if there had been another path for me..."_

"Ugh..." Sycamore dropped to his knees, bringing his head down. "I'm so sorry," he said in a grief-stricken half-whisper. "I never meant...for any of you to die." 

Descole erupted into scornful laughter. _"You see that? Still yearning for their presence after all this time, unable to move on. You never married after Anna, or connected with another child the way you did with Millie. You certainly couldn't put your trust in anyone half as much as you did in Raymond. Oh, but that's not true, is it? So many people have entered your life since these tragedies, yet you keep them at a safe distance while longing for a connection. Your colleagues in archaeology, the people you befriended as you traveled the world, the estranged brother who welcomed you with open arms after you attacked him, and the warmhearted girl seeking the support and guidance of a father who no longer exists. Yet you would reject all of them because of some silly notion that only the past is worthy of your loyalty."_

"That's because they are worthy!" Sycamore shouted, hot tears pouring down his face. "Anna and Millie meant everything to me! They didn't deserve to have their own lives cut short. And Raymond...he did more for me than anyone else! The world may forget them and move on, but I never will!" 

_"Such a sad creature. And now, you burden the dead with your inability to cope. You truly don't deserve any of the good people in your life."_

"St-stop it..." The man brought his head down, as though the act of doing so would send the voice away. 

_"Perhaps prison would be a more suitable fate for you. After all, time stops for many of the inmates, especially those serving long sentences...or so I've heard."_

"Be quiet! I won't listen to you anymore! I...I..." With his hands over his ears, Sycamore trembled uncontrollably, awaiting the masked man's next retort. When it didn't come, he lifted his head and lowered his hands, looking around the room. Once again, he was alone. 

_It was...it was my imagination after all..._

He gasped as he felt another tear slide down his face. Slowly moving himself to a standing position, he found a mirror that seemed to warp his image the least. Approaching it, he studied his face, seeing that it was red, his expression molded into one of profound heartbreak. 

_I can't go outside like this. Settle down, Sycamore..._

Sniffling, he dried his tears with his sleeve, taking several deep breaths and trying to clear his mind. _I must compose myself. Layton is waiting for me. Flora is probably with him by now._

He looked back at the mirror, realizing he still looked rather exhausted. _A smile. I've always been capable of showing my best smile._ He demonstrated this once or twice, while trying to recall a positive memory from earlier in the day. _That's right. Despite this episode, I enjoyed myself tonight. Not everything has to be a bad memory. There's no need to live in constant fear of losing something...or someone..._

Moments later, Sycamore left the tent, and to his great relief, the sun had set. _Perhaps the lack of light will help soften this countenance of mine..._

"Desmond," called Layton, who was standing beside Flora near a set of lanterns. "We were starting to worry. Is everything all right?" 

"Oh...yes," Sycamore said as he approached. "I dropped my pocketwatch along the way, and so, I went looking for it. It's become an important item to me, you see..." 

Something about Layton's demeanor suggested that he was not quite convinced by the explanation, but he left it alone. "...Yes. Well, I'm glad to hear you found your watch. Flora and I are ready to return home. Was there anything else you wanted to do before we left?" 

"No. I've had a full day." 

* * *

Hours later, Sycamore sat in bed, turning the page of an old hardback novel. He had only gotten a couple of chapters in when he heard a soft knock. "Come in,” he said, the command met with the creak of the door. 

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Desmond." 

At the sound of Layton's voice, Sycamore lowered the book and looked up. "Not at all, Layton. What can I do for you?" 

"Hmm. I feel that is something I should be asking you." Layton stepped into the room, closing the door. "Earlier tonight, when you fell behind, you weren't looking for your pocketwatch, were you?" 

Stunned at first, Sycamore closed the book with a sigh but kept his gaze downward. 

"Desmond...what happened in there?" 

"Something...that I couldn't discuss in front of Flora," the man replied with some hesitation. "The truth is...I don't know how much longer I can keep up this charade, living my life as though as nothing is wrong, as though the past itself never happened." 

Layton came closer, and then took a seat on the edge of the bed. "No one is asking for you to live as though the past never happened." 

"Yet that's what it will take for me to return to society. When it comes to monsters, there is no room for compassion. My life can only be 'normal' for as long as I continue to deceive everyone...including myself." 

"Is that what you are worried about? You believe there is no path to redemption?" 

"Should the world decide my fate, no. I mean...” Sycamore finally made eye contact with his brother. "What am I _doing_ here, Layton?" The words spewed forth, quicker than his own sense. "What right do I have to be here, fully sheltered, after everything I've done? Do the people I've hurt _not_ have the right to see me punished for my misdeeds? How can I carry on as though I were a free man? Attending festivals with family and friends, pretending that a good night's sleep is the only thing separating me from the rest of my future...is that justice for all those who suffered by my hand?"

"I..." Allowing the outburst to sink in, it was Layton who now turned away. "I don't know what to say to that, Desmond. I cannot fully relate to what it is you're feeling right now, but I am sorry that you are suffering. I'm here if you need someone to listen, but should you decide that any topic is...beyond my expertise...then there are several professionals with whom I am acquainted. Of course, that might require telling the whole story, but if that is your wish, then I would support that as well." 

Sycamore managed to calm down then. "Forgive me. I did not mean to put you in a difficult place. Everything has been hitting me all at once, and I've done a poor job of sorting these thoughts and feelings. Usually, I am in control, but there are times when I feel as though I could just burst. Whether it's the guilt these last few years, or losing Raymond, or the pain I still feel from losing my family...or some combination of the three...I do not know...but I realize that this is my problem to solve, and no one else's. I do feel less burdened now, though, so...thank you for that." 

"Of course. You're welcome." Layton moved to a standing position. "Surely you tire of this question, but will you be all right?" 

"Yes, I think so. I plan to read another chapter or two, and then turn out the light." 

"Then I will see you in the morning." Layton headed toward the door before turning back once. "Good night." 

"Good night, Layton." 

* * *

The next three days passed without another incident. 

Despite his physical limitations, Sycamore managed to leave the house on his own from time to time. He'd had no particular reason or destination; he just wanted to see what had become of the city during his absence. As expected, not much had changed. 

At least once, he had made it all the way to the museum, in the hopes that something would grab his interest. Instead, what came to him was a rush of memories from the Azran artifacts that were on display. 

_This is where the investigation into the stolen relics began. The Targent mole at Scotland Yard. I remember..._

Passing several exhibits, Sycamore entered a room where Clark Triton had recruited Hershel Layton's help in solving that very mystery. _This is where I officially met Clark for the first time. He had no idea what I had done to him and his family two years prior to that encounter. The original masked gentleman who kidnapped his wife and butler while blackmailing him...he was completely unaware that I was the one beneath the mask. I even attempted to take the life of his own son...yet he welcomed me and praised me for my contributions as though I were not guilty of such injury._

His eyes moved from an ancient drawing on the wall to a tray of tarnished coins secured inside a glass cage. _Clark...under different circumstances...I might have called you friend as well as colleague. That will never happen now. Whether or not Luke has told you about me...once you find out that the man who hurt you and your family has returned, you'll want me locked away, much like these artifacts..._

With a sigh, he turned away, suddenly wishing to be somewhere else, anywhere else. His exit from the museum was swift and, to his relief, unnoticed. 

* * *

Nearly half an hour later, the bus dropped him off at Gressenheller University. With no urgent reason for the visit, Sycamore began to wander all over the campus. 

_Layton said he was giving lectures all day today. I wonder..._

There were several students outside walking around or studying beneath the shade of the trees, but no one disturbed him during his stroll. _I suppose only those who teach here risk getting swarmed..._

Sycamore left his musings to the sound of hushed whispers. He looked off to the side, realizing a group of students were in fact staring at him, one young woman even pointing. _Or perhaps these individuals have chosen to study the Azran after all?_ “Good morning,” he said to them with a smile. As he passed, stunned exclamations of _“It's him!”_ made him chuckle quietly to himself. 

Something caught the man's eye then; Sycamore stopped and turned his head, viewing a familiar face through a classroom window. _So this is where he holds his lectures..._

Sycamore watched as Professor Layton spoke with a book in hand, presumably reciting a lesson from it. Every student sat in the room holding pencil tips to open paper tablets, focusing on nothing but their instructor. It brought a modest smile to Sycamore's face; he had given a lecture or two in his day, so it was not new territory for him. But seeing it from this perspective, neither from that of a professor nor student, was something else. He started to feel a sense of pride from watching his younger brother. 

He then shook his head, trying not to get too caught up in the moment. _He'll be fine without me. He always has been..._

Feeling it was time to move on, Sycamore returned to the front entrance of the school. When the bus arrived, he boarded a nearly empty vehicle. He considered moving to the upper deck but decided against it; repeating the episode he'd had on the Ferris wheel was not something he wished to do. _Pitiful_ , he thought. _I haven't had to fly anywhere lately, and yet... I find that just standing at any height greater than my own to be terribly upsetting._

_Will this irrational fear of mine never cease...?_

As the bus started slowing down, Sycamore glanced out the window, seeing that they were approaching Scotland Yard. He stayed put while two passengers came on board, but as he gazed at the entrance to the building, more memories came to him. 

_This is where that senior detective was exposed for the agent of Targent that he was. Targent...I was pleased to see the name finally being treated with the seriousness it deserved. If only the police had done so in the past, I would not have felt compelled to have my revenge on those fanatics. If only..._

He shook his head. _No...I am simply making excuses for my atrocious behavior. The police did what they could, with what limited knowledge they had. I could fault them...but no where near as much as I should fault myself. I made the decision to throw hope away and give in to despair. It was I who became Jean Descole, and disrupted so many lives in my quest for revenge._

The bus pulled away from the curb then, picking up speed as it drove off. Sycamore gave the building one final glance. 

_The next time I walk through those doors...it will be as a criminal._

* * *

It was in the early afternoon the next day when Hershel Layton returned home from work. 

“Desmond?” he called as he entered the front door. “I'm home.” He shed his overcoat, hanging it on a nearby rack, and brought his briefcase to the reception room. After setting it down by one of the chairs, Layton headed for the hall. “Desmond, are you here?” 

The only response was a soft thump. _So he is here..._

Layton came closer to the guest bedroom, reaching out to the handle of the door, which was slightly ajar. As soon as he pushed the door fully open, however, what he found shook him to his core. “Wh-what?!” 

There, standing in front of a full length mirror, was Jean Descole in full costume. He had not reacted to Layton's presence, and only continued to observe his own reflection. 

Layton himself could only look on in horror, his heart pounding in his chest. “What is the meaning of this?!” he shouted. 

It seemed like an eternity before Descole turned, finally acknowledging his visitor. “Hello, Layton.” 

The weight fell from the man's chest. _His voice. Not Descole's. Desmond's voice._ Though he uttered a sigh of relief, the anticipation of a response left it a weak sound. “D...Desmond...you...” 

“I can imagine what a surprise this must be for you,” Descole said. “And an unpleasant one at that. As for 'the meaning of this,' I...I've been reflecting on this last week, on our adventures, on my crimes and everything else, and...” He tilted his head down slightly. “...I've concluded that I've gotten away with too much for too long. I should have been tossed into a cell along with Bronev on that day, but I ran away from that. That isn't fair to all those people who suffered because of me and my selfishness. Having my revenge on the Azran was the most important thing to me these last ten years, and instead of learning from the tragedies I endured, I simply paid the misery forward. Regardless of the justification, I knew it wasn't right. And now...I must take responsibility.” 

It was unintentional, but Layton was slowly moving his head from side to side. “What, exactly, are you planning on doing?” 

“I will turn myself in to the police shortly. While they know Sycamore's face, they'll likely remain unconvinced of his culpability. I thought that dressing as Descole would increase my chances of being believed. Don't...try to stop me, Layton,” he added as he saw his brother's expression. “I've made up my mind.” 

“I know you have...Desmond...” Layton said, words a sudden difficult task for him. “I think...deep down...I knew that this day was coming. But part of me wished...that it would never come.” There was a pause. “Well, if you're going, then at least allow me to drive you there. I won't take 'no' for an answer.” 

* * *

Shortly afterward, the two men had arrived at police headquarters, with Layton's vehicle resting at the curb by the building. Both men had exited and were preparing to say their goodbyes. 

“Thank you for the ride,” said Descole. “I expect to be in contact sometime today or tomorrow. Farewell...for now.” 

Just as the man was about to walk off, Layton took a step forward. “Desmond, wait.” 

“Hm?” Descole stopped and turned. “Layton, don't make me repeat myself. I will not be swayed.” 

“I understand. I just...wanted to tell you...I'll get started on finding a lawyer. I'll hire the best defense counsel in London, I swear it.” 

Descole cracked a smile. “Not too quickly. You don't want to attract attention to yourself, do you? And if anyone finds out you've been harboring a fugitive, you'll be seeking a lawyer for yourself as well. That would complicate your situation with Flora, would it not?” 

Layton brought his gaze downward. “Yes...it would...” 

“I realize it is cruel to say this now, but...you were right about me. I did feel a connection with Flora. It was something I hadn't felt in a long time. As I sat there with her during that play, forgetting about everything else while the story unfolded on stage...for a moment, my heart felt whole. Anna and Millie were dearest to me, and no one can ever replace them.” There was a pause, and he gave a wistful sigh. “Still, I would very much have liked to have a second daughter.” 

“All is not lost, Desmond,” Layton told him. “Though we can't erase the charges, perhaps we could arrange something with the court. And there's a chance you could end up with a reduced sentence.” 

“I don't know about that. I've upset a lot of people, and I'm sure they'll be thrilled to testify against me. With enough witnesses on the prosecution's side, I'll be lucky to be out after Flora has graduated from her university of choice. Worst case scenario, I'll be locked away for the rest of my life.” 

“I refuse to be believe that.” 

“We must be prepared for that outcome, Layton. I don't like it, but it's the price a man must pay for his misdeeds. Of course, I hope they'll factor in some of the good I've done...but I won't expect it. I have nothing to lose.” 

_But I do._ “I want to see you come out of this while there is still life in you, Desmond. I'll visit as much as I can. Flora as well. Oh. I'll need to tell her somehow. She'll understand...eventually. And then, there's the matter of her schedule, and--” 

“Layton, you're rambling,” Descole said. 

“I know. This is difficult for me as well. Now that my brother has returned, I am to lose him once more.” 

“I understand. Oh, that reminds me.” Descole reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a gold object. “I'd like for you to hold on to this for a while.” 

_Raymond's pocketwatch._ “Are you sure, Desmond?” 

Descole nodded. “Yes.” 

Layton slowly reached forward, taking the item in hand. “I'll take good care of it, then.” 

“See that you do.” 

“Yes...” 

Noticing that his brother still seemed to be looking toward the ground, Descole put a hand on the man's shoulder. “Layton, I'm sorry to put you through this, but this is the right thing to do. I cannot truly move forward until I've paid for everything I've done. You know this. But now...I'm afraid I must ask something else of you.” 

“What is it?” 

“It's a selfish request, considering all that I've put you through...but I need you to be there again for me. I'm not asking you to pay the legal fees, or to make a plea to the judge on my behalf. I need you to trust that I am making the right decision. And even if it turns out to not be the case, I still need your support. Whether you do it as brother, colleague, or friend...it is up to you. But understand that the prosecution will come at me with everything they have, and I will be especially vulnerable the further they delve into my past. Can I rely on you?” 

“Of course, Desmond.” 

Descole showed a smirk. “A silly question, was it not? I may be older than you, but you've turned into a gentleman far greater than I could ever hope to be.” 

“...I appreciate that, Desmond. For many years, I strove to become a true gentleman. I hope that, in some ways, I have accomplished that goal...” Layton finally lifted his head, looking nothing short of devastated. “But...right now, I am also a selfish man.” In one motion, he threw his arms around his brother, holding him tightly. 

Descole gave a wordless sound of surprise, but eventually returned the embrace. After a moment, they released one another. 

“Well,” Descole said, turning toward the building. “It is time.” 

“You're right.” As much as Layton tried to curb his emotion, he found himself wiping away a tear. “Goodbye...Desmond.” 

* * *

It had been a week. 

A week of inquiring, researching, and in some cases, almost begging...but nothing came of it. 

_Not even London's finest will take this case,_ Layton thought. _And no wonder. Professor Desmond_ _Sycamore is a name known all over the country. Numerous institutions are acquainted with him...or_ _with the man they believed him to be. After learning of all the charges against him, I can imagine even the most skilled barrister would view this case with despair... or disgust._

It was pointless to lay the blame. Sycamore might have chosen a different path for himself, or reconsidered his methods in uncovering Azran secrets. _But as the saying goes, what's done is done._

The pocketwatch he was holding flashed in the afternoon sunlight. Layton could only smile at how like-minded he and his brother were when it came to gift-giving. _Claire also cherished the watch I gave her...it's a pity I was not able to recover it. At least Desmond..._

He shook his head. _I must focus. I promised him that I would find him the best defense. I know there is someone out there...someone capable of granting Desmond more time..._

* * *

A few blocks away from a popular hotel, a minicab was slowing to a stop. Moments later, two people exited, each pulling a large rolling suitcase behind them. 

“Brrrrrrrr!” The young man stopped in his tracks with a great shiver. Dressed in a blue business suit with a red tie, he had dark eyes and dark hair that seemed to permanently point behind him. 

“Nick!” scolded his companion, a teenage girl who wore a heavy cloak over her robes. Half of her hair was pulled into a top knot, with fringe and two small locks framing her face, the remainder tied loosely down her back. “We're not in L.A. anymore. Didn't I tell you it was going to be colder here?” 

“Yeah, but the temperature last week was showing something else.” 

“Seriously? You know the temperature changes, right? Now come on! How can you expect the locals to take the name 'Phoenix Wright' seriously when he can't even pay attention to something as simple as a weather forecast?” 

The man named “Phoenix Wright” bristled. “Give me a break, Maya. Besides, it's not like I forgot my overcoat; it's in the suitcase. But nevermind that. Our hotel is just down the street, so let's hurry up and check in.” 

Maya fell in step with Phoenix. “I can't believe Mr. Edgeworth, of all people, summoned you here.” 

“Me either. It came right out of the blue, too. But this is an important case, and Edgeworth couldn't trust just anybody with the evidence. He said it was safer with me than with Detective Gumshoe, or even the postal service.” 

“There's gotta be more to it than that, though. Why does he care so much about some scientist? What was the name...Professor Redwood? Doctor Evergreen? It didn't sound like he even knew him all that well.” 

“Maybe. You know Edgeworth, always keeping things to himself. But I really owe him for Iris' trial this year. Besides, he's paying the hotel bill, so I'm definitely not about to say no.” 

The two continued on their way, weaving through the crowd. 

“It's kind of weird, being back here so soon,” Maya commented. 

Phoenix nodded. “Yeah, but hopefully this time we won't have to worry about any crazy stories or innocent people being dropped into a pit of flames.” 

“You said it.” This time, it was Maya who came to a stop, though for a reason besides the drop in temperature. “Hey Nick, just over there...isn't that...?” 

“What?” Phoenix first turned to her, then followed her outstretched hand, which was pointing further down the walkway. There was a man in dark clothes and a top hat, someone who appeared to be lost in thought. “Oh...yeah, I think it is! I wonder what he's doing here--” 

“Professor!” Maya called out before Phoenix could finish his response. When there was no reaction, she moved forward, addressing him again with a wave. “Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey! Over here!” 

Phoenix suddenly looked sheepish. “Maya, there's no need to be so loud. I'm sure he remembers us. Geez.” 

Maya, who heard nothing of her companion's protests, ran toward the man in the top hat. “Professor Layton! How's it going?” 

There was a two second delay as Phoenix caught up to her...rolling both their suitcases behind him. “Good...good to see you, Professor!” he chimed in, trying to catch his breath. 

Hershel Layton's concentration broke, and he received the two with a warm expression. “Why, Ms. Fey, Mr. Wright! A pleasure to see you two again! What brings you back to London so soon? Have you again been summoned by the Legal League of Attorneys?” 

Phoenix shook his head. “No, not exactly. I'm helping a fellow lawyer...a prosecutor, actually. He was put in charge of some big case over here and he needed me to do a favor for him.” 

“I see. Well, your friend must feel assured, knowing he has you on his side.” 

"Haha. Loath as he is to admit it, I've gotten him out of a jam more than once." 

“So how are you, Professor?” Maya asked. “Are you doing some shopping?” 

To the surprise of the two Americans, Layton's expression turned somber, and he brought his gaze down. “That is...one way of putting it.” 

Phoenix looked at the man with concern. “What's wrong, Professor? Wait...you aren't looking for a doctor or something like that, are you?” 

“N...no...” Then, as quickly as the professor's dejection appeared, it vanished, and in its place was a smile. “Hahaha. Forgive me. I did not mean to give you the wrong impression. I am in perfect health. However, perhaps it is by some hand of fate that we have encountered each other today. The truth is... I seek a lawyer. Given the nature of your visit, I would not demand of you your services, though if you were to offer them, they would be most welcome. Even if time only allowed you to convince a local barrister to take my case, I would be extremely grateful.” 

“Oh...yeah, of course! You helped us both not too long ago, so it's the least I could do. But, uh...what's this about trying to convince a lawyer to take your case? How many lawyers have you-- w-wait...you don't mean...they all turned you down?” 

Layton uttered a heavy sigh. “It is as you say, Mr. Wright.” 

“But why?” Maya asked, as her confusion turned to suspicion. “You didn't do anything shady, did you, Professor? You're not going overboard with the puzzles, or trying to pass off snakes in a can as a clue, are you?” 

Phoenix shot the young woman a look that seemed to say, _Get real, Maya._

Layton chuckled. “Not at all, Ms. Fey. The lawyer isn't for me, it's for...it's for someone important to me.” 

“So you're trying to help out a buddy,” Phoenix said, nodding. “I get it. And uh...I'm getting the feeling that this is serious. Has he been charged with something?” 

“He hasn't been charged with murder, thankfully...but they are serious charges, and numerous. Kidnapping, blackmail, destruction of property, and while acts of terrorism have not yet been added to the list, I'm certain that, at some point, they will be considered...” 

“Oh...huh...” Phoenix felt his stomach drop. “That...that'll be a challenge, but if he's not guilty, I'm sure the investigation will turn up something.” 

“He is guilty.” 

“Huh? How do you know?” 

“I am a witness to his crimes, as are several others,” Layton explained. “Please don't misunderstand, Mr. Wright. It is not an acquittal I seek. I do not believe it possible at this point. I just want to ensure that he will receive a proper defense, by someone who can help him tell his side of the story in a court of law. It is the least I can do for him...after everything he has done for me.” 

Phoenix took in the words, nodding slowly. _Why does this feel familiar?_ “I see. Well, Professor, no matter what happened with your friend, I'll do what I can to help him. I do have to meet up with that prosecutor I mentioned earlier, though. While I'm helping him, maybe he could throw something my way too. In the meantime, you could tell me more about this case.” 

“I thank you, Mr. Wright. Incidentally, were the two of you going to the hotel here? It was not my intention to delay you.” 

"Oh, it's fine. We've got a few hours to kill, anyway.” Phoenix turned to Maya, pushing her suitcase toward her. He then looked back at Layton, and the three started for the hotel. “So, about your friend..." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Author's note: Thanks for reading, and thanks for all your comments (and/or reactions, depending on which site you're reading this). I didn't mean for a whole year to slip by before updating, but life happens. Still, I apologize._
> 
> _This does leave things open for a crossover sequel, but I'm unable to make promises at this point in time. If life agrees, we'll just see how it goes. Thanks again._


End file.
